  (“Died of Wounds”) Because you died, I shall not rest again, But wander ever through the lone world wide, Seeking the shadow of a dream grown vain Because you died. I shall spend brief and idle hours beside The many lesser loves that still remain, But find in none my triumph and my pride; And Disillusion’s slow corroding stain Will creep upon each quest but newly tried, For every striving now shall nothing gain Because you died. France, February 1918. |
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