Frederick George Scott



The Airman

(W. G. B.)

Up to the regions of battle,
    Where broods invisible death,
On the broad white wings of morning
    Fanned with the Winter’s breath,
Our comrade rose light-hearted
    With eyes that gazed afar,
Till the arrow from fate’s bow struck him
    And he plunged like a falling star.

Then the victor soul flew upward,
    Buoyant, courageous and strong,

To the ranks of the hosts who have conquered
    And he thrilled at their deathless song—
The song of the welcome of heroes,
    The song of the finished strife,
The song of warriors feasting
    Where the wine in their cups is life. [Page 87]