A Grave in Flanders

A Grave in Flanders

by Lord Crewe

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 space 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 in 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. - - - o - - -

Source: EP 1/5/1915