Rosny

Woe, he went galloping into the war,     Clara, Clara!     Let us two dream: shall he scape with a scar?     Scarcely disfigurement, rather a grace     Making for manhood which nowise we mar:     See, while I kiss it, the flush on his face,     Rosny, Rosny!     Light does he laugh: With your love in my soul,     (Clara, Clara!)     How could I other than, sound, safe, and whole,     Cleave who opposed me asunder, yet stand     Scatheless beside you, as, touching loves goal,     Who won the race kneels, craves reward at your hand,     Rosny, Rosny?     Ay, but if certain who envied should see     Clara, Clara.     Certain who simper: The hero for me     Hardly of life were so chary as miss     Death, death and fame, thats loves guerdon when She     Boasts, proud bereaved one, her choice fell on this     Rosny, Rosny!     So, go on dreaming, he lies mid a heap     (Clara, Clara,)     Of the slain by his hand: what is death but a sleep?     Dead, with my portrait displayed on his breast:     Love wrought in his undoing: No prudence could keep     The love-maddened wretch from his fate.     That is best,     Rosny, Rosny.