Text of the Poem

Half a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward,  
All in the valley of Death
     Rode the six hundred. 
"Forward the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the guns!" he said. 
Into the valley of Death
     Rode the six hundred.
 
"Forward, the Light Brigade!" 
Was there a man dismayed? 
Not though the soldier knew
     Someone had blundered. 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
     Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them
     Volleyed 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 six hundred.

Flashed all their sabers bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air 
Sab'ring 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 stroke
     Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode back, but not,
     Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them
     Volleyed and thundered; 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They 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 six hundred.

When can their glory fade? 
O the wild charge they made!
     All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made! 
Honor the Light Brigade,
     Noble six hundred!