THE UNDERGRADUATE KILLED IN BATTLE

Sweet as the lawn beneath his sandalled tread Or the scarce rippled stream beneath his oar, For its still, channelled current constant more, His life was, and the few blithe words he said. One or two poets read he, and reread; One or two friends in boyish ardour wore Next to his heart, incurious of the lore Dodonian woods might murmur o’er his head. Ah, demons of the whirlwind, have a care What, trumpeting your triumphs, ye undo! The earth once won, begins your long despair That never, never is his bliss for you. He breathed betimes this clement island air And in unwitting lordship saw the blue. George Santayana