The Investiture by Siegfried Sassoon
GOD with a Roll of Honour in His hand
Sits welcoming the heroes who have died,
While sorrowless angels ranked on either side
Stand easy in Elysiumâ€™s meadow-land.
Then you come shyly through the garden gate,
Wearing a blood-soaked bandage on your head;
And God says something kind because youâ€™re dead,
And homesick, discontented with your fate.
If I were there weâ€™d snowball Death with skulls;
Or ride away to hunt in Devilâ€™s Wood
With ghosts of puppies that we walked of old.
But youâ€™re alone; and solitude annuls
Our earthly jokes; and strangely wise and good
You roam forlorn along the streets of gold.