Matt's note on this poem
If I should die, be not concerned to know
The manner of my ending, if I fell
Leading a folorn charge against the foe,
Strangled by gas, or shattered by a shell.
Nor seek to see me in this death-in-life
Mid shirks and curse, oaths and blood and sweat,
Cold in the darkness, on the edge of strife,
Bored and afraid, irresolute, and wet
But if you think of me, remember one
Who loved good dinners, curious parody,
Swimming, and lying naked in the sun,
Latin hexameters, and heraldry,
Athenian subtleties of dhz and poiz,
Beethoven, Botticelli, beer, and boys.
Philip Bainbrigge 1891-1918, killed in action at Ephèy, 18 September