Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill, Laughed in the sun and kissed the lovely grass. You said: "Through glory and ecstasy we pass, Wind, sun and earth remain, the birds sing still, When we are old, old ..." "And when we die All's over that is ours; and life burns on Through other lovers, other lips," said I, --"Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!" "We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here. Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" ...we said: "We shall go down with unreluctant tread Rose-crowned into the darkness!" ...Proud we were, And laughed, that had such brave true things to say. --And then you suddenly cried, and turned away. __________________________________________________ The poem above, titled "The Hill", was written by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915). He died at the age of 28--poisoned by an insect bite he received while sailing on a British warship in the Mediterranean. He was on his way to fight in the First World War. He is considered to be one of the "British World War One poets. He befriended many writers of that era in England--Thomas Hardy, Henry James, Siegfried Sasson, Joseph Conrad, etc. He wrote "The Hill" in 1911. I hope you like this "war poem". -- Above excerpted from an e-mail from Stephen Espie to a number of friends (10/19/13)