(Lieut. E. B. F., killed in action, France, Sept. 14, 1918)
I dreamed and I awoke, the morning light
Streamed o'er my bed—it was no longer night.
He died in France, and I was with him, though,
We were three thousand miles apart; for lo!
He called me to him and I saw him die
A hero's death; beside him there I knelt,
My arm beneath his head. He knew I felt
Repaid while sharing his great sacrifice,
In that wild night beneath the alien skies.
I did not need to hear the fatal word
That came at length; already, when I heard
The woful message, it was known full well
That yonder in the awful din, he fell,
Laying upon the altar of his God
The blood wherewith he dewed the shell-torn sod:
And though I miss him, yet my heart the while
Like his is tranquil, for I saw him smile.