This poem is in the public domain and recorded for at librivox.org by James Tiley on January 14th, 2007 in New Meadows, Idaho. The Charge of the Light Brigade by Lord Alfred Tennyson. Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the Valley of Death rode the 600. Forward the Light Brigade, charged for the guns, he said, into the Valley of Death rode the 600.
Forward the Light Brigade, was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldiers knew someone had blundered. There's not to make reply, there's not to reason why. There's but to do and die.
Into the Valley of Death rode the 600. Cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them, cannon in front of them, vollehed and thundered, stormed at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell rode the 600. Flashed all their saber's bare, flashed as they'd turned in air. Sabering the gunners there, charging an army, while all the world wondered, plunged in the battery smoke, right through the line they broke, Cossack and Russian, reeled from the saber's stroke, shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not the 600. Cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them, cannon behind them, vollehed and thundered, stormed at with shot and shell, while horse and hero fell. The day that had fought so well came through the jaws of death back from the mouth of hell. All that was left of them, left of the 600.
When can their glory fade? Oh the wild charge they made, all the world wondered. Honor the charge they made, honor the light brigade, noble 600, end of poem.