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At length when the war’s at an end
   And we’re just ourselves,—you and I,
And we gather our lives up to mend,
   We, who've learned how to live and to die:

Shall we think of the old ambition
   For riches, or how to grow wise,
When, like Lazarus freshly arisen,
   We’ve the presence of Death in our eyes?

Shall we dream of our old life's passion,—
   To toil for our heart’s desire,
Whose souls War has taken to fashion
   With molten death and with fire?

I think we shall crave the laughter
   Of the wind through trees gold with the sun,
When our strife is all finished,—after
   The carnage of War is done.

Just these things will then seem worth while:—
   How to make Life more wondrously sweet;
How to live with a song and a smile,
   How to lay our lives at Love’s feet.

                        ERIC P. DAWSON,
                        Sub. Lieut. R.N.V.R.


[Epigraph from the book Carry On, preceding the introduction section. Written by Coningsby’s brother Eric Powell Dawson.] 

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