Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/The Schoolfellow
The Schoolfellow
Our game was his but yesteryear;We wished him back; we could not knowThe selfsame hour we missed him hereHe led the line that broke the foe.
Blood-red behind our guarded postsSank as of old the dying day;The battle ceased; the mingled hostsWeary and cheery went their way:
"To-morrow well may bring," we said,"As fair a fight, as clear a sun."Dear lad, before the word was sped,For evermore thy goal was won.