Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke

Harold Verschoyle Wrong (1891–1916)

Death

I FELT the clouds and all around me mist;

Behind, the twilight; a great flame, before,

That pierced the thickspun texture of the clouds;

Behind, it cleared, the mist was all before.

I stood upon a pinnacle that rose

High in the air, and yet there was no height,

But all the world lay near within my grasp.

Light was my soul and my feet urged me on,

On through the grey that cloaked the distant flame;

I paused and looked, then forward turned once more,

And forward strode into the foaming cloud.

And as I went the flame grew bright and wide,

And all was brilliant with that blazing light

Which dazzled me and filled my eyes with red,

Till I was blinded and fell fainting down.

Then cleared the clouds and there was no more mist.