Tell me not, Evelyn, I fail
Your soft and shadowed soul
That to the embittered East I sail
To make my anger whole.
No beauty now the fighters boast,
Since youthful Cornford fell,
Though Asia twice redeem his ghost
And fifty victories tell.
Great is the journey, deep and slow;
The sea moves with your breath.
With neither joy nor grief I go
To meet my life or death.
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