I deemed the venture of his life should go
A thing unworthy of remembrance. Then
His look of pain (soft are the hearts of men!)
Made me think deeply of the soldier’s part,
(As when on Memory’s day the quick tears start
To see the line each spring becoming less,
The slowing step, heads’ winter snowiness!)
And vowed I then that while my blood should run
I should not be a son
To speak a word not kindly of a soldier true;