| 'YE have robb'd,' said he, 'ye have slaughter'd and made an end, | |
| Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead: | |
| What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend?' | |
| 'Blood for our blood,' they said. | |
| |
| He laugh'd: 'If one may settle the score for five, | 5 |
| I am ready; but let the reckoning stand till day: | |
| I have loved the sunlight as dearly as any alive.' | |
| 'You shall die at dawn,' said they. | |
| |
| He flung his empty revolver down the slope, | |
| He climb'd alone to the Eastward edge of the trees; | 10 |
| All night long in a dream untroubled of hope | |
| He brooded, clasping his knees. | |
| |
| He did not hear the monotonous roar that fills | |
| The ravine where the Yassîn river sullenly flows; | |
| He did not see the starlight on the Laspur hills, | 15 |
| Or the far Afghan snows. | |
| |
| He saw the April noon on his books aglow, | |
| The wistaria trailing in at the window wide; | |
| He heard his father's voice from the terrace below | |
| Calling him down to ride. | 20 |
| |
| He saw the gray little church across the park, | |
| The mounds that hid the loved and honour'd dead; | |
| The Norman arch, the chancel softly dark, | |
| The brasses black and red. | |
| |
| He saw the School Close, sunny and green, | 25 |
| The runner beside him, the stand by the parapet wall, | |
| The distant tape, and the crowd roaring between, | |
| His own name over all. | |
| |
| He saw the dark wainscot and timber'd roof, | |
| The long tables, and the faces merry and keen; | 30 |
| The College Eight and their trainer dining aloof, | |
| The Dons on the daïs serene. | |
| |
| He watch'd the liner's stem ploughing the foam, | |
| He felt her trembling speed and the thrash of her screw; | |
| He heard the passengers' voices talking of home, | 35 |
| He saw the flag she flew. | |
| |
| And now it was dawn. He rose strong on his feet, | |
| And strode to his ruin'd camp below the wood; | |
| He drank the breath of the morning cool and sweet: | |
| His murderers round him stood. | 40 |
| |
| Light on the Laspur hills was broadening fast, | |
| The blood-red snow-peaks chill'd to a dazzling white; | |
| He turn'd, and saw the golden circle at last, | |
| Cut by the Eastern height. | |
| |
| 'O glorious Life, Who dwellest in earth and sun, | 45 |
| I have lived, I praise and adore Thee.' | |
| A sword swept. | |
| Over the pass the voices one by one | |
| Faded, and the hill slept. | |
