Explore "A Fallen Leaf" by Paul Bewsher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When Death has crossed my name from out the roll / Of dreaming children serving in this War; / And with these earthly eyes I gaze no more / Upon sweet England's grace -- perhaps my soul / Will visit streets down which I used to stroll / At sunset-charmed dusks, when London's roar / Like ebbing surf on some Atlantic shore / Would trance the ear. Then may I hear no toll
Of heavy bells to burden all the air / With tuneless grief: for happy will I be! -- / What place on earth could ever be more fair / Than God's own presence? -- Mourn not then for me, / Nor write, I pray, "He gave" -- upon my clod -- / "His life to England"," but "his soul to God"."