So now I ponder, since your day is done, Ere dawn was past, on all you meant to me, And all the more you might have come to be, And wonder if some state, beyond the sun And shadows here, may yet completion see Of intimacy sweet though scarce begun.
IF you should be too happy in your days And never know an hour of vain regret, Do not forget That still the shadows darken all my ways.
If sunshine sweeter still should light your years, And you lose nought of all you dearly prize, Turn not your eyes From my steep track of anguish and of tears.
And if perhaps your love of me is less Than I with all my need of you would choose, Do not refuse To love enough to lighten my distress.
And if the future days should parting see Of our so different paths that lately met, Remember yet Those days of storm you weathered through with me.
YOUR battle-wounds are scars upon my heart, Received when in that grand and tragic “show” You played your part Two years ago,
And silver in the summer morning sun I see the symbol of your courage glow-- That Cross you won Two years ago.
Though now again you watch the shrapnel fly, And hear the guns that daily louder grow, As in July Two years ago,
May you endure to lead the Last Advance And with your men pursue the flying foe As once in France Two years ago.
[A] Captain E. H. Brittain, M.C. Written four days before his death in action in the Austrian offensive on the Italian Front, June 15th, 1918.
(V.R., DIED OF WOUNDS, 2ND LONDON GENERAL HOSPITAL, CHELSEA, JUNE 9TH, 1917)
I AM so tired. The dying sun incarnadines the West, And every window with its gold is fired, And all I loved the best Is gone, and every good that I desired Passes away, an idle hopeless quest; Even the Highest whereto I aspired Has vanished with the rest. I am so tired.
I HEAR your voices in the whispering trees, I see your footprints on each grassy track, Your laughter echoes gaily down the breeze-- But you will not come back.
The twilight skies are tender with your smile, The stars look down with eyes for which I yearn, I dream that you are with me all the while-- But you will not return.
The flowers are gay in gardens that you knew, The woods you loved are sweet with summer rain, The fields you trod are empty now, but you Will never come again.