Youth that trafficked long with Death,

And to second life returns,

Squanders little time or breath

On his fellow--man's concerns.

Earned peace is all he asks

To fulfill his broken tasks.

Yet, if he find war at home

(Waspish and importunate),

He hath means to overcome

Any warrior at his gate;

For the past he buried brings

Back unburiable things--

Nights that he lay out to spy,

Whence and when the raid might start;

Or prepared in secrecy

Sudden blows to break its heart--

All the lore of No-Man's Land

Steels his soul and arms his hand.

So, if conflict vex his life

Where he thought all conflict done,

He, resuming ancient strife,

Springs his mine or trains his gun;

And, in mirth more dread than wrath,

Wipes the nuisance from his path!