Three Epitaphs


Tell England, you that pass our monument,
Men who died serving Her rest here, content.


Together, sundered once by blood and speech,
Joined here in equal muster of the brave,
Lie Boer and Briton, foes each worthy each:
May peace strike root into their common grave,
And blossoming where the fathers fought and died,
Bear fruit for sons that labour side by side.


Where'er I fall, like yonder ripped
Old elm, there lay me; so but one
Small brass hang where the solemn crypt
Gives respite from the Cape Town sun,
Hard by the hurrying street, alive
With strength and youth: 'tis all I claim,
That where the heart is, there survive
The dust and shadow of a name.
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