  Living we loved you, yet withheld our praises Before your faces; And though we had your spirits high in honour, After the English manner We said no word. Yet, as such comrades would, You understood. Such friendship is not touched by Death’s disaster, But stands the faster; And all the shocks and trials of time cannot Shake it one jot. Beside the fire at night some far December, We shall remember And tell men, unbegotten as yet, the story Of your sad glory— Of your plain strength, your truth of heart, your splendid Coolness, all ended! All ended, ... yet the aching hearts of lovers Joy overcovers, Glad in their sorrow; hoping that if they must Come to the dust, An ending such as yours may be their portion, And great good fortune— That if we may not live to serve in peace England, watching increase— Then death with you, honoured, and swift, and high; And so—not die. IN TRENCHES, July 1916. |
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