Sic Transit

(V.R., Died of Wounds, 2nd London General Hospital
Chelsea, June 9th, 1917)

I am so tired.
The dying sun incarnadines the West,
And every window with its gold is fired,
And all I loved the best
Is gone, and every good that I desired
Passes away, an idle hopeless quest;
Even the Highest whereto I aspired
Has vanished with the rest.
I am so tired.

London,
June 1917.