To W.H.W.

You called to me from o'er the restless tide :
Within the deepening shades of Death's confines,
—Like winds grown free among the forest pines
Did set my Spirit free : and like a bride—
Like a lost mistress to a lover sad—
Led my young spirit unto Love : relit
The flame, the dream where two friends long ago would sit
Together happy, disunited mad.

So near to death, friend, have I grown to thee—
Grown to thy Soul like ivy to the wall,
Beheld a dream of Love's eternity—
Near to the grave, beneath a soldier's pall.
If time ne'er grants our friendship future span,
Know, friend, we met in spirit Man to Man !

May, 1916. France.