There is a courage, a majestic thing

That springs forth from the brow of pain, full-grown,

Minerva-like, and dares all dangers known,

And all the threatening future yet may bring;

Crowned with the helmet of great suffering;

Serene with that grand strength by martyrs shown,

When at the stake they die and make no moan,

And even as the flames leap up are heard to sing:

A courage so sublime and unafraid,

It wears its sorrows like a coat of mail;

And Fate, the archer, passes by dismayed,

Knowing his best barbed arrows needs must fail

To pierce a soul so armored and arrayed

That Death himself might look on it and quail.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Other poems of WHEELER WILCOX (563)

Comments (32)

How musically the bee flows and the time follows it
Beautiful and insightfully brought forth.
This is beautiful poetry. Loved it.
well written. Ienjoy it most
Thank God some souls are able to express their pain in terms of sheer beauty, since I more often see, all around, our inner pain being outpoured as ugliness.
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