Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/167

Rh 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 long 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?