Classic Poem

Here in the marshland, past the battered bridge,
—One of a hundred grains untimely sown,
Here, with his comrades of the hard-won ridge,
—He rests, unknown.

His horoscope had seemed so plainly drawn:
—School triumphs earned apace in work and play;
Friendships at will; then love's delightful dawn
—And mellowing day.

Home fostering hope; some service to the State;
—Benignant age; then the long tryst to keep
Where in the yew-tree shadow congregate
—His fathers sleep.

Was here the one thing needful to distil
—From life's alembic, through this holier fate,
The man's essential soul, the hero-will?
—We ask: and wait.