War and Love/E. T.

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E. T.

(Died of wounds, May, 1917)

You too are dead,The coarse and ignorant,Carping against all that was too highFor your poor spirit to grasp,Cruel and evil tongued—Yet you died without a moan or whimper.
Oh, not I, not I should dare to judge you!But rather leave with tears your graveWhere the sweet grass will cover all your faultsAnd all your courage too.
Brother, hail and farewell!

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