Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/190

148 And this we know: Death is not Life effete,

Life crushed, the broken pail. We who have seen

So marvellous things know well the end's not yet.

Victor and vanquished are a-one in death:

Coward and brave: friend, foe. Ghosts do not say,

"Come, what was your record when you drew breath?"

But a big blot has hid each yesterday

So poor, so manifestly incomplete.

And your bright promise, withered long and sped,

Is touched, stirs, rises, opens and grows sweet

And blossoms and is you, when you are dead.

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