Triumph

Thus dreaming in the shadows of the pines,
Feeling the presage of the unborn years,
I know that Youth will brave the dark confines
And wrest from Death his diadem of years.
I know that should I still and prostrate lie
Amid Death's harvest there on Belgium's plain,
No false regret shall scorning wander by
And taunt me that my Youth hath been in vain.
Rather in my last moments will I live
My life's past purpose rich in destiny,
Its scorn of Ease, its eagerness to give
Challenge to all, blind to eternity.
Death will not, cannot wrest from out my mind
The thought that Love its life in death can find.