JUST as of yore the friendly rain 
 Patters its old and frank refrain; 
 Just as of yore the world swings by 
 The little window where I lie 
Watching the shadows wax and wane. 
 
I see, beyond the Aegean main, 
His cross upon the grave-scarred plain? 
 Yet still the dawn-flush climbs the sky, 
 Just as of yore! 

His cross?and mine! They try in vain 
With careful phrase to stanch the pain; 
 They say, `A hero?s death!? But I 
 Long only for his footstep nigh; 
Long only for my boy again, 
 Just as of yore!