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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368541" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Looking Death In The face</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">AY, in thy face, old fellow! Now's the time. <br>The Black Sea wind flaps my tent-roof, nor wakes <br>These lads of mine, who take of sleep their fill, <br>As if they thought they'd never sleep again, <br>Instead of-- <br>Pitiless Crimean blast, <br>How many a howling lullaby thou'lt raise <br>To-morrow night, all nights till the world's end, <br>Over some sleepers here! <br>Some?--who? Dumb Fate <br>Whispers in no man's ear his coming doom; <br>Each thinks--'not I--not I.' <br>But thou, grim Death, <br>I hear thee on the night-wind flying abroad, <br>I feel thee here, squatted at our tent-door, <br>Invisible and incommunicable, <br>Pointing: <br>'Hurrah!' <br>Why yell so in your sleep, <br>Comrade? Did you see aught? <br>Well--let him dream: <br>Who knows, to-morrow such a shout as this </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He'll die with. A brave lad, and very like <br>His sister. <br>* * * * * * </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So! just two hours have I lain <br>Freezing. That pale white star, which came and peered <br>Through the tent-opening, has passed on, to smile <br>Elsewhere, or lost herself i' the dark,--God knows. <br>Two hours nearer to dawn. The very hour, <br>The very hour and day, a year ago, <br>When we light-hearted and light-footed fools <br>Went jingling idle swords in waltz and reel, <br>And smiling in fair faces. How they'd start, <br>Those dainty red ad white soft faces kind, <br>If they could but behold my visage now, <br>Or his--or his--o some poor faces cold <br>We covered up with earth last noon. <br>--There sits <br>The laidly Thing I felt on our tent-door <br>Two hours back. It has sat and never stirred. <br>I cannot challenge it, or shoot it down, <br>Or grapple with it, as with that young Russ <br>Whom I killed yesterday. (What eyes he had!-- <br>Great limpid eyes, and curling dark-red hair,-- <br>A woman's picture hidden in his breast,-- <br>I never liked this fighting hand to hand.) <br>No, it will not be met like flesh and blood, <br>This shapeless, voiceless, immaterial Thing, <br>Yet I will meet it. Here I sit alone,-- <br>Show me thy face, O Death! <br>There, there. I think <br>I did not tremble. <br>I am a young man; <br>Have done full many an ill deed, left undone <br>Many a good one: lived unto the flesh, <br>Not to the spirit: I would rather live <br>A few years more, and try if things might change. <br>Yet, yet I hope I do not tremble, Death; <br>And that thy finger pointed at my heart <br>But calms the tumult there. <br>What small account <br>The All-living seems to take of this thin flame <br>Which we call life. He sends a moment's blast <br>Out of war's nostrils, and a myriad <br>Of these our puny tapers are blown out <br>Forever. Yet we shrink not,--we, such frail <br>Poor knaves, whom a spent ball can instant strike <br>Into eternity,--we helpless fools, <br>Whom a serf's clumsy hand and clumsier sword <br>Smiting--shall sudden into nothingness <br>Let out that something rare which could conceive <br>A universe and its God. <br>Free, open-eyed, <br>We rush like bridegrooms to Death's grisly arms: <br>Surely the very longing for that clasp <br>Proves us immortal. Immortality <br>Alone could teach this mortal how to die. <br>Perhaps, war is but Heaven's great ploughshare, driven <br>Over the barren, fallow earthly fields, <br>Preparing them for harvest; rooting up <br>Grass, weeds, and flowers, which necessary fall, <br>That in these furrows the wise Husbandman <br>May drop celestial seed. <br>So let us die; <br>Yield up our little lives, as the flowers do; <br>Believing He'll not lose one single soul,-- <br>One germ of His immortal. Naught of His <br>Or Him can perish; therefore let us die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I half remember, something like to this <br>She says in her dear letters. So--let us die. <br>What, dawn? The faint hum in the trenches fails. <br>Is that a bell i' the mist? My faith, they go <br>Early to matins in Sebastopol!-- <br>A gun!--Lads, stand to your arms; the Russ is here. <br>Agnes. <br>Kind Heaven, I have looked Death in the face, <br>Help me to die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Dinah+Maria+Mulock+Craik">Dinah Maria Mulock Craik</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368541" data-title="Looking Death In The face de Dinah Maria Mulock Craik" data-description="AY, in thy face, old fellow! Now's the time. 
The Black Sea wind flaps my tent-roof, nor wakes 
These lads of mine, who take of sleep their fill, 
As if they thought they'd never sleep again, 
Instead of-- 
Pitiless Crimean blast, 
How many a howl..."></div>
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