  I knew that you had suffered many things, For I could see your eyes would often weep Through bitter midnight hours when others sleep; And in your smile the lurking scorn that springs From cruel knowledge of a love, once deep, Grown gradually cold, until the stings Pierce mercilessly of a past that clings Undying to your lonely path and steep. So, loved and honoured leader, I would pray That hidden future days may hold in store Some solace for your yearning even yet, And in some joy to come you may forget The burdened toil you will not suffer more, And see the War-time shadows fade away. France, 1918. |
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