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. SIC TRANSIT---- (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. LONDON, _June 1917._ TO THEM 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. _June 1917._ OXFORD REVISITED THERE’S a gleam of sun on the grey old street Where we used to walk in the Oxford days, And dream that the world lay beneath our feet In the dawn of a summer morning. Now the years have passed, and it’s we who lie Crushed under the burden of world-wide woe, But the misty magic will never die From the dawn of an Oxford morning. And the end delays, and perhaps no more I shall see the spires of my youth’s delight, But they’ll gladden my eyes as in days of yore At the dawn of Eternal Morning. _June 1917._ THAT WHICH REMAINETH (IN MEMORY OF CAPTAIN E. H. BRITTAIN, M.C.) ONLY the thought of a merry smile, The wistful dreaming of sad brown eyes-- A brave young warrior, face aglow With the light of a lofty enterprise. Only the hope of a gallant heart, The steady strife for a deathless crown, In Memory’s treasures, radiant now With the gleam of a goal beyond renown. Only the tale of a dream fulfilled, A strenuous day and a well-fought fight, A fearless leader who laughed at Death, And the fitting end of a gentle knight. Only a Cross on a mountain side, The close of a journey short and rough, A sword laid down and a stainless shield-- No more--and yet, is it not enough? THE GERMAN WARD (“INTER ARMA CARITAS”)