The Last Question: (For B. A. Bingham) - Poem by Katharine Tynan
They lifted up his weary head,
Stained with a dark and bitter dew:
'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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The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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