Two Fusiliers by Robert Graves
And have we done with War at last?
Well, weâ€™ve been lucky devils both,
And thereâ€™s no need of pledge or oath
To bind our lovely friendship fast,
By firmer stuff
Close bound enough.
By wire and wood and stake weâ€™re bound,
By Fricourt and by Festubert,
By whipping rain, by the sunâ€™s glare,
By all the misery and loud sound,
By a Spring day,
By Picard clay.
Show me the two so closely bound
As we, by the red bond of blood,
By friendship, blossoming from mud,
By Death: we faced him, and we found
Beauty in Death,
In dead men breath.