Thou only from this sorrow wert relief,

Inviolate death, grave deity of rest,

Wherein all things past somehow seem the best

That ever could have come to be. Proud grief

Her lustrous torch hath lighted in this brief

Dim time before the dark, when the wide west

Fades where illimitable skies suggest

Days vanished in the beauty of belief.

As one unto a battle come, that stands

Aloof awhile, beholding friend and foe

Clashing in conflict, till his soul commands

He, too, prest on whither the bugles blow,

Lifting his eyes sees over wasted lands

Life's dust and shadow drifting to and fro.