What matters, so your heart has known no blighting,
Your soul has met the test without affrighting?
What is there, dear one, after that, to doubt!
Oh, but you must come back to me, beloved!
Wounded or no, you must come back.
HE
When I come back,
Beneath my helmet muddy,
There’ll be a smile, stored through the strife, for you;
There’ll be a kiss, tender and warm—aye, ruddy