Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the Gold shorters.
“Forward, the Short Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Someone had blundered.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Blindly they rode on; oh well,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the Gold shorters.
