E. T.
(Died of wounds, May, 1917)
You too are dead,
The coarse and ignorant,
Carping against all that was too high
For your poor spirit to grasp,
Cruel and evil tongued—
Yet you died without a moan or whimper.
Oh, not I, not I should dare to judge you!
But rather leave with tears your grave
Where the sweet grass will cover all your faults
And all your courage too.
Brother, hail and farewell!
[53]
