Shorn of all maudlin sentiment
Seemed the sharp touchstone of pretence;
Soft hearts on swift world-bettering bent,
All miss, all mourn the man whom all
Responsive found to each high call.
Old long-dead days of boisterous mirth,
Far dim-seen hours of arduous fight
When gaiety possessed the earth,
When morning felt no fear of night;
School-form, field, footlights, club! Eheu