When roaring gloom surged inward and you cried, <br />Groping for friendly hands, and clutched, and died, <br />Like racing smoke, swift from your lolling head <br />phantoms of thought and memory thinned and fled. <br /> <br />Yet, though my dreams that throng the darkened stair <br />Can bring me no report of how you fare, <br />Safe quit of wars, I speed you on your way <br />Up lonely, glimmering fields to find new day, <br />Slow-rising, saintless, confident and kind— <br />Dear, red-faced father God who lit your mind.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-his-dead-body/
