Alas, how many an adept, for whose arms Life held delicious offerings, perished here-- How many in the prime of all that charms, Crowned with all gifts that conquer and endear! Honor them not so much with tears and flowers, But you with whom the sweet fulfilment lies, Where in the anguish of atrocious hours Turned their last thoughts and closed their dying eyes, Rather, when music on bright gatherings lays Its tender spell, and joy is uppermost, Be mindful of the men they were, and raise Your glasses to them in one silent toast. Drink to them--amorous of dear Earth as well, They asked no tribute lovelier than this-- And in the wine that ripened where they fell, Oh, frame your lips as though it were a kiss. ALAN SEEGER [Illustration] [Illustration] ALAN SEEGER SOLDIER OF THE FOREIGN LEGION KILLED IN ACTION JULY 4, 1916 Yet, sought they neither recompense nor praise, Nor to be mentioned in another breath Than their blue-coated comrades whose great days It was their pride to share, ay! share even to death. Nay, rather, France, to you they rendered thanks (Seeing they came for honor, not for gain), Who, opening to them your glorious ranks, Gave them that grand occasion to excel, That chance to live the life most free from stain And that rare privilege of dying well. _From a poem written by him in memory of American Volunteers fallen for France, upon the occasion of a memorial service held before the Lafayette-Washington statue on the Place des États-Unis in Paris, May 30, 1916._ XIII FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN I [Illustration: SAUCISSE ABOVE VERDUN] _In the Hills of France, June 23, 1916_ _Dear Mother_,--