| To those who've fail'd, in aspiration vast, |
| To unnam'd soldiers fallen in front on the lead, |
|
To calm, devoted engineers—to over-ardent travelers—to pilots
on their ships, |
|
To many a lofty song and picture without recognition—I'd rear
a laurel-cover'd monument, |
| High, high above the rest—To all cut off before their time, |
| Possess'd by some strange spirit of fire, |
| Quench'd by an early death. |