‘How does the battle go?’ he said.
Sir, it is victory,’ — when he heard
He smiled the darkening shadows through
And died as blithe as a singing bird.
On the stained grass as on a bed
Dying he lay and well content —
‘Sir, it is victory,’ they said.
So smiling, smiling all the way,
To the undying Dead he went
As to a heavenly holiday.

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