An Allegory
By Barcroft Boake
The fight was over, and the battle won
A soldier, who beneath his chieftains eye
Had done a might deed and done it well,
And done it as the world will have it done,
A stab, a curse, some quick play of the butt,
Two skulls cracked crosswise, but the colours saved,
Proud of his wounds, proud of the promised cross,
Turned to his rear-rank man, who on his gun
Leant heavily apart. Ho, friend! he called,
You did not fight then: were you left behind?
I saw you not. The other turned and showed
A gapping, red-lipped wound upon his breast.
Ah, said he sadly, I was in the smoke!
Threw up his arms, shivered, and fell and died.