The Soul Of Battle

I have been witness of a strange grimmes
All fear surpassing past all supposing
Sweeter than nocturnes of the wild nightingale
Or than love's nectar after life's gall.

Sweeter than odors of living leaves,
Sweeter than odors of dying loves.
Sweeter than death and dreams hereafter
To one in the dark of life and its laughter.
On the sweet murder after long guard
Unto the martyr smiling in dark;

To me was that smile, faint as a wan, worn myth,
Faint and exceeding small, on a boy's dying mouth.