A. E. Housman (1859–1936). A Shropshire Lad. 1896.
XLIV. Shot? so quick, so clean an ending
S
Oh that was right, lad, that was brave:
Yours was not an ill for mending,
’Twas best to take it to the grave.
And saw your road and where it led,
And early wise and brave in season
Put the pistol to your head.
After long disgrace and scorn,
You shot dead the household traitor,
The soul that should not have been born.
And scorned to tread the mire you must:
Dust ’s your wages, son of sorrow,
But men may come to worse than dust.
Long time since the tale began.
You would not live to wrong your brothers:
Oh lad, you died as fits a man.
With ruth and some with envy come:
Undishonoured, clear of danger,
Clean of guilt, pass hence and home.
And here, man, here ’s the wreath I ’ve made
’Tis not a gift that ’s worth the taking,
But wear it and it will not fade.