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.

​

 "HARROW GRAVE IN FLANDERS," (1917)

- Robert Crewe-Milnes