Soldier, historian,
Orator, artist — he
Adorned the present and awoke the past;
Now ended his long span,
A one-man ministry
Of all the talents has resigned at last.
So he becomes a myth,
A dynast of our day
Standing for all time at the storm's rough centre
Where he, a monolith,
Of purpose grim and gay,
Flung in the waves' teeth the rock's no-surrender.
Who goes home? goes home?
By river, street and dome
The long lamenting call echoes on, travels on
From London, further, further,
Across all lands. The Mother
Of Parliaments is grieving for her great, dead son.
