To my brother

Give me your hand, my brother, search my face;

Look in these eyes lest I should think of shame;

For we have made an end of all things base.

We are returning by the road we came.

Your lot is with the ghosts of soldiers dead,

And I am in the field where men must fight.

But in the gloom I see your laurell'd head

And through your victory I shall win the light.