Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/165

 XLVII

N a far field, away from England, lies

A boy I friended with a care like love;

All day the wide earth aches, the keen 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:

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