| George Herbert Clarke, ed. (1873–1953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917. |
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| 123. Not to Keep |
| | | By Robert Frost |
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| THEY sent him back to her. The letter came | |
| Saying … and she could have him. And before | |
| She could be sure there was no hidden ill | |
| Under the formal writing, he was in her sight— | |
| Living.—They gave him back to her alive— | 5 |
| How else? They are not known to send the dead— | |
| And not disfigured visibly. His face?— | |
| His hands? She had to look—to ask, | |
| “What was it, dear?” And she had given all | |
| And still she had all—they had—they the lucky! | 10 |
| Was n’t she glad now? Everything seemed won, | |
| And all the rest for them permissible ease. | |
| She had to ask, “What was it, dear?” | |
| “Enough, | |
| Yet not enough. A bullet through and through, | 15 |
| High in the breast. Nothing but what good care | |
| And medicine and rest—and you a week, | |
| Can cure me of to go again.” The same | |
| Grim giving to do over for them both. | |
| She dared no more than ask him with her eyes | 20 |
| How was it with him for a second trial. | |
| And with his eyes he asked her not to ask. | |
| They had given him back to her, but not to keep. | |
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