LEAVE me alone here, proudly, with my dead,

Ye mothers of brave sons adventurous;

He who once prayed: "If it be possible

Let this cup pass," will arbitrate for us.

Your boy with iron nerves and careless smile

Marched gaily by and dreamed of glory's goal;

Mine had blanched cheek, straight mouth and close-gripped hands

And prayed that somehow he might save his soul.

I do not grudge your ribbon or your cross,

The price of these my soldier, too, has paid;

I hug a prouder knowledge to my heart,

The mother of the boy who was afraid!

He was a tender child with nerves so keen

They doubled pain and magnified the sad;

He hated cruelty and things obscene

And in all high and holy things was glad.

And so he gave what others could not give,

The one supremest sacrifice he made,

A thing your brave boy could not understand;

He gave his all because he was afraid!