The heroic stars spending themselves, br Coining their very flesh into bullets for the lost battle, br They must burn out at length like used candles; br And Mother Night will weep in her triumph, taking home her heroes. br There is the stuff for an epic poem-- br This magnificent raid at the heart of darkness, this lost battle-- br We don't know enough, we'll never know. br Oh happy Homer, taking the stars and the Gods for granted.