God took, and suddenly on wings of speed
Bore to the utter quietness far flung
Of fields Elysian where the horrid tongue
Of battle is not. For He knew his need
Better than those who knew him well indeed,
Loving him best. Above his grave is rung
The death-bell of all things which hurt the sense
And vex the mind and plague the soul of man,
Tingeing the rainbow colours of his best
Dreams drably: and hath cried a voice, “Go hence!