They lifted up his weary head, <br />Stained with a dark and bitter dew: <br />'How does the battle go?' he said. <br /> <br />Sir, it is victory,' -- when he heard <br />He smiled the darkening shadows through <br />And died as blithe as a singing bird. <br /> <br />On the stained grass as on a bed <br />Dying he lay and well content -- <br />'Sir, it is victory,' they said. <br /> <br />So smiling, smiling all the way, <br />To the undying Dead he went <br />As to a heavenly holiday.<br /><br />Katharine Tynan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-last-question-for-b-a-bingham/
