Poetry Breakfast #12 – The Charge of the Light Brigade

The Brunch on the Morning Line
rolling the grave of Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a leek, half a leek,
half a leek, onion;
All in the shell of the quiche
rose the egg custard.
“Lardons of bacon, lad!
Grate the Gruyere!” he said.
Into the shell of the quiche
rose the egg custard.

“Lardons of bacon, lad!”
Was there a cook dismayed?
None but the cook who knew
that he’d screwed up his mise.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to cook or die.
Into the shell of the quiche
rose the egg custard.

Diners to right of them,
Diners to left of them,
Diners in front of them,
complained and whined;
tickets backed up the line,
boldly they cooked, no mind;
bacon and swiss cheese fell
into the pastry shell
rose the egg custard.

When can their glory fade?
Look at the food they made!
All the room wonder’d.
Honor the Kitchen Brigade!
Honor the quiche they made,
Noble egg custard!

The Charge Of The Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Source: http://www.ram.org/contrib/the_charge_of_the_light_brigade.html