To A Conscript Of 1940

A soldier passed me in the freshly fallen snow, His footsteps muffled, his face unearthly grey: And my heart gave a sudden leap As I gazed on a ghost of five-and-twenty years ago. I shouted Halt! and my voice had the old accustom'd ring And he obeyed it as it was obeyed In the shrouded days when I too was one Into the unknown. He turned towards me and I said: `I am one of those who went before you Five-and-twenty years ago: one of the many who never returned, Of the many who returned and yet were dead. We went where you are going, into the rain and the mud: We fought as you will fight With death and darkness and despair; We gave what you will give-our brains and our blood. We think we gave in vain. The world was not renewed. There was hope in the homestead and anger in the streets, But the old world was restored and we returned To the dreary field and workshop, and the immemorial feud Of rich and poor. Our victory was our defeat. Power was retained where power had been misused And youth was left to sweep away The ashes that the fires had strewn beneath our feet. But one thing we learned: there is no glory in the dead Until the soldier wears a badge of tarnish'd braid; There are heroes who have heard the rally and have seen The glitter of garland round their head. Theirs is the hollow victory. They are deceived. But you my brother and my ghost, if you can go Knowing that there is no reward, no certain use In all your sacrifice, then honour is reprieved. To fight without hope is to fight with grace, The self reconstructed, the false heart repaired.' Then I turned with a smile, and he answered my salute As he stood against the fretted hedge, which was like white lace.