What waits he for?
“Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be bolder grown;
I would know something of the Silent Land;
It’s hard to struggle to the front alone—
Comrade, thy hand.
“The reveille calls! be strong, my soul, and peaceful;
The Eternal City bursts upon my sight!
The ringing air with ravishing melody is full—
I’ve won the fight!
“Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my hand so steadfast;