The Schoolfellow

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Title:     The Schoolfellow
Author: Henry Newbolt [More Titles by Newbolt]

Our game was his but yesteryear;
We wished him back; we could not know
The selfsame hour we missed him here
He led the line that broke the foe.

Blood-red behind our guarded posts
Sank as of old the dying day;
The battle ceased; the mingled hosts
Weary and cheery went their way:

"To-morrow well may bring," we said,
"As fair a fight, as clear a sun."
Dear lad, before the word was sped,
For evermore thy goal was won.

[The end]
Henry Newbolt's poem: Schoolfellow

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