I slumbered with your poems on my breast br Spread open as I dropped them half-read through br Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb br To see, if in a dream they brought of you, br br I might not have the chance I missed in life br Through some delay, and call you to your face br First soldier, and then poet, and then both, br Who died a soldier-poet of your race. br br I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain br Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained-- br And one thing more that was not then to say: br The Victory for what it lost and gained. br br You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire br On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day br The war seemed over more for you than me, br But now for me than you--the other way.