The Morning Before The Battle

THE MORNING BEFORE THE BATTLE by ROBERT GRAVES

To-day, the fight: my end is very soon, And sealed the warrant limiting my hours: I knew it walking yesterday at noon Down a deserted garden full of flowers. ...Carelessly sang, pinned roses on my breast, Reached for a cherry-bunch---and then, then, Death Blew through the garden from the North and East And blighted every beauty with chill breath.

I looked, and ah, my wraith before me stood, His head all battered in by violent blows: The fruit between my lips to clotted blood Was transubstantiate, and the pale rose Smelt sickly, till it seemed through a swift tear-flood That dead men blossomed in the garden-close.