Till mortal frailty could endure no longer Disease’s ravages and climate’s power, In body weak, but spirit ever stronger, Courageously they stayed to meet their hour. No blazing tribute through the wide world flying, No rich reward of sacrifice they craved, The only meed of their victorious dying Lives in the hearts of humble men they saved. Who when in light the Final Dawn is breaking, Still faithful, though the world’s regard may cease, Will honour, splendid in triumphant waking, The souls of women, lonely here at peace. O golden Isle with purple shadows falling Across thy rocky shore and sapphire sea, I shall not picture these without recalling The Sisters sleeping on the heart of thee! H.M.H.S. “BRITANNIC,” MUDROS, _October 1916._ IN MEMORIAM: G.R.Y.T. (KILLED IN ACTION, APRIL 23RD, 1917) I SPOKE with you but seldom, yet there lay Some nameless glamour in your written word, And thoughts of you rose often--longings stirred By dear remembrance of the sad blue-grey That dwelt within your eyes, the even sway Of your young god-like gait, the rarely heard But frank bright laughter, hallowed by a Day That made of Youth Right’s offering to the sword. 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. MALTA, _May 1917._ A PARTING WORD (TO A FORTUNATE FRIEND) 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. MALTA, _May 1917._ TO MY BROTHER[A] (IN MEMORY OF JULY 1ST, 1916) 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,