By Arthur Huge Clough
A rather speculative poem about Napoleon and Wellington's lasts words. I discovered it a few months ago when I was browsing through wikisource. A little sentimental, but I like it. =)
NAPOLEON
Is it this, then, O world-warrior,
That, exulting, through the folds
Of the dark and cloudy barrier
Thine enfranchised eye beholds?
Is, when blessed hands relieve thee
From the gross and mortal clay,
This the heaven that should receive thee?
‘Tête d’armée.’
( For the rest )
WELLINGTON.
And what the words, that with his failing breath
Did England hear her aged soldier say?
I know not. Yielding tranquilly to death,
With no proud speech, no boast, he passed away.
( For the rest )





