Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/343

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I brushed the dream away, and quite forgot

The nightmare's ugly blot.

So was the dream forgot. The dream came true

Before the night I knew

That you had flown away into the air

Forever. Then I cheated my despair.

I said

That you were safe—or wounded—but not dead.

Alas! I knew

Which was the false and true.

And after days of watching, days of lead,

There came the certain news that you were dead;

You had died fighting, fighting against odds,

Such as in war the gods

Æthereal dared when all the world was young,

Such fighting as blind Homer never sung,

Nor Hector nor Achilles ever knew;

High in the empty blue.

High, high, above the clouds, against the setting sun,

The fight was fought, and your great task was done.

Of all your brave adventures this the last

The bravest was and best;

Meet ending to a long embattled past,

This swift, triumphant, fatal quest,

Crowned with the wreath that never perisheth,

And diadem of honourable death;

Swift Death aflame with offering supreme

And mighty sacrifice,

More than all mortal dream;

A soaring death, and near to Heaven's gate;

Beneath the very walls of Paradise,

Surely with soul elate,

You heard the destined bullet as you flew,

And surely your prophetic spirit knew

That you had well deserved that shining fate.