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Editor's Selection of Poems
Two Fusiliers

by Robert Graves

And have we done with War at last?  
Well, we’ve been lucky devils both,  
And there’s no need of pledge or oath  
To bind our lovely friendship fast,  
By firmer stuff 
Close bound enough.  
  
By wire and wood and stake we’re bound,  
By Fricourt and by Festubert,  
By whipping rain, by the sun’s glare,  
By all the misery and loud sound, 
By a Spring day,  
By Picard clay.  
  
Show me the two so closely bound  
As we, by the red bond of blood,  
By friendship, blossoming from mud, 
By Death: we faced him, and we found  
Beauty in Death,  
In dead men breath. 
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