Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/464

 Our marriage, often set By miracle delayed At last is consummate, And cannot be unmade.

Live, then, whom Life shall cure, Almost, of Memory, And leave us to endure Its immortality.

Ah, would swift ships had never been, for then we ne'er had found, These harsh ^Egean rocks between, this little virgin drowned, Whom neither spouse nor child shall mourn, but men she nursed through pain And—certain keels for whose return the heathen look in vain.

CROSS a world where all men grieve  ''And grieving strive the more.  The great days range like tides and leave '' ''Our dead on every shore.  Heavy the load we undergo, '' And our own hands prepare, If we have parley with the foe,  The load our sons must bear.