Classic Poem

There were two warriors who went to fight,
The first with courage armed, the last, with fright:
The first strode, bold, to where the battle broke
And took, unharmed, the foemen's fiercest stroke;
The second, far from where the havoc reeled,
Crouched, as he hoped, beneath his saving shield…

But—victory coming at the edge of day—
It was the first who strode, unscathed, away;
While he who crouched, safe, from the trampling rout—
Fear, with her single arrow, found him out!