Читать книгу At Ypres with Best-Dunkley - Thomas Hope Floyd - Страница 3

" … Henceforth

These are our saints.

These that we touched, and kissed,

And frowned upon;

These that were frail, yet died because the good

Was overthrown.

That they in one dread hour

Were terrible

Stains not their sainthood, nor is heaven less sure

That they knew hell.

How beautiful they are,

How bright their eyes.

Their hands have grasped the key

Of Paradise!

They hold it out to us,

Our men, our sons

… To us

The lonely ones."

—Thomas Moult.[1]