Come now, O Death, While I am proud, While joy and awe are breath, And heart beats loud!
While all around me stand Men that I love, The wind blares aloud, the grand Sun wheels above.
Naked I stand to-day Before my doom, Welcome what comes my way, Whatever come.
What is there more to ask Than that I have?-- Companions, love, a task, And a deep grave!
Come then, Eternity, If thou my lot; Having been thus, I cannot be As if I had not.
Naked I wait my doom!
Earth enough shroud!
Death, in thy narrow room Man can lie proud!
XI.--FULFILMENT
Was there love once? I have forgotten her.
Was there grief once? grief yet is mine.
Other loves I have, men rough, but men who stir More grief, more joy, than love of thee and thine.
Faces cheerful, full of whimsical mirth, Lined by the wind, burned by the sun; Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth, As whose children we are brethren: one.
And any moment may descend hot death To shatter limbs! pulp, tear, blast Beloved soldiers who love rough life and breath Not less for dying faithful to the last.
O the fading eyes, the grimed face turned bony, Oped mouth gushing, fallen head, Lessening pressure of a hand shrunk, clammed, and stony!
O sudden spasm, release of the dead!
Was there love once? I have forgotten her.
Was there grief once? grief yet is mine.
O loved, living, dying, heroic soldier, All, all, my joy, my grief, my love, are thine!
THE DEAD
I.--THE BURIAL IN FLANDERS
(H. S. G., YPRES, 1916)
Through the light rain I think I see them going, Through the light rain under the muffled skies; Across the fields a stealthy wet wind wanders, The mist bedews their tunics, dizzies their brains.
Shoulder-high, khaki shoulder by shoulder, They bear my Boy upon his last journey.
Night is closing. The wind sighs, ebbs, and falters....
They totter dreaming, deem they see his face.
Even as Vikings of old their slaughtered leader Upon their shoulders, so now bear they on All that remains of Boy, my friend, their leader, An officer who died for them under the dawn.
O that I were there that I might carry, Might share that bitter load in grief, in pride!...
I see upon bronze faces love, submission, And a dumb sorrow for that cheerful Boy.
Now they arrive. The priest repeats the service.
The drifting rain obscures.
They are dispersed.
The dying sun streams out: a moment's radiance; The still, wet, glistening grave; the trod sward steaming.
Sudden great guns startle, echoing on the silence.
Thunder. Thunder.
HE HAS FALLEN IN BATTLE.
(O Boy! Boy!) Lessening now. The rain Patters anew. Far guns rumble and shudder And night descends upon the desolate plain.
LAWFORD, _September, 1916_.
II.--BOY
In a far field, away from England, lies A Boy I friended with a care like love; All day the wide earth aches, the cold wind cries, The melancholy clouds drive on above.
There, separate from him by a little span, Two eagle cousins, generous, reckless, free, Two Grenfells, lie, and my Boy is made man, One with these elder knights of chivalry.
Boy, who expected not this dreadful day, Yet leaped, a soldier, at the sudden call, Drank as your fathers, deeper though than they, The soldier's cup of anguish, blood, and gall,
Not now as friend, but as a soldier, I Salute you fallen; for the Soldier's name Our greatest honour is, if worthily These wayward hearts assume and bear the same:
The Soldier's is a name none recognize, Saving his fellows. Deeds are all his flower.
He lives, he toils, he suffers, and he dies, And if not all in vain this is his dower:
The Soldier is the Martyr of a nation, Expresses but is subject to its will; His is the Pride ennobles Resignation, As his the rebel Spirit-to-fulfil.
Anonymous, he takes his country's name, Becomes its blindest vassal--though its lord By force of arms; its shame is called his shame, As its the glory gathered by his sword.
Lonely he is: he has nor friend nor lover, Sith in his body he is dedicate....
His comrades only share his life, or offer Their further deeds to one more heart oblate.
Living, he's made an 'Argument Beyond'
For others' peace; but when hot wars have birth, For all his brothers' safety becomes bond To Fate or Whatsoever sways this Earth.
Dying, his mangled body, to inter it, He doth bequeath him into comrade hands; His soul he renders to some Captain Spirit That knows, admires, pities, and understands!
All this you knew by that which doth reside Deeper than learning; by apprehension Of ancient, dark, and melancholy pride You were a Soldier true, and died as one.
All day the cold wind cries, the clouds unroll; But to the cloud and wind I cry, "Be still!"
What need of comfort has the heroic soul?
What soldier finds a soldier's grave is chill?
LAWFORD, _September, 1916_.