That some dear heart will ache is my one grief.
Friends, if I have them, I would fondly take
With me that best of gifts, a friend’s belief.
I have believed, and for my faith reaped tares;
Believed again, and, losing, was content;
A heart perchance touched blindly, unawares,
Rewards with friendship faith thus freely spent.
Bury the body—it has served its ends;
Mark not the spot, but “On Gallipoli,”
Let it be said, “he died.” Oh, Hearts of Friends,