Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/392

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Do the old tales, half-remembered, come back to haunt him now

Who leaving his glad school-days and putting boyhood by

Joined England's bitter Iliad? Greek beauty on the brow

That frowns with dying wonder up to Hissarlik's sky! Margaret Adelaide Wilson

THE DEAD

UT of the flame-scarred night one came to me

And whispered, "He is dead." . . . But I, who find

Thy resurrection in each noble mind,

Thy soul in every deed of chivalry,

I can but think, while lives nobility,

While honour lights a path for humankind,

While aught is beautiful, or aught enshrined,

Death hath o'ertaken but not conquered thee.