The fight was over, and the battle won <br />A soldier, who beneath his chieftain’s eye <br />Had done a might deed and done it well, <br />And done it as the world will have it done— <br />A stab, a curse, some quick play of the butt, <br />Two skulls cracked crosswise, but the colours saved— <br />Proud of his wounds, proud of the promised cross, <br />Turned to his rear-rank man, who on his gun <br />Leant heavily apart. ‘Ho, friend!’ he called, <br />‘You did not fight then: were you left behind? <br />I saw you not.’ The other turned and showed <br />A gapping, red-lipped wound upon his breast. <br />‘Ah,’ said he sadly, ‘I was in the smoke!’ <br />Threw up his arms, shivered, and fell and died.<br /><br />Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-allegory/
