I often think of life's dark days Whose shades were mostly blue, Of insults heaped upon my head While I was fighting through, Of dearest friends, then proven false, Whom I had thought were true, Of ideals shattered, masks removed, And sores exposed to view. Who was mistaken mattered not— 'Twas up to me to do, And just how well the task was done, My friends, I leave to you. And while I do not favors ask, In thought I oft review The battle that I fought those days When the Great War was through. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAND OF LINCOLN by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN PRIVATE DEVOTION by PHOEBE HINSDALE BROWN FAILAND by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN A LETTER, ON HIS DEPARTURE FORM LONDON; TO R.L., ESQ. by JOHN BYROM THE LAND OF EXILE by CH'U YUAN WHEN MARY GOES WALKING by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN: 5. THE LEGEND OF LUCRECE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |