To E.T.

Robert Frost 1874 (San Francisco) – 1963 (Boston)

I slumbered with your poems on my breast
Spread open as I dropped them half-read through
Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb
To see, if in a dream they brought of you,

I might not have the chance I missed in life
Through some delay, and call you to your face
First soldier, and then poet, and then both,
Who died a soldier-poet of your race.

I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain
Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained--
And one thing more that was not then to say:
The Victory for what it lost and gained.

You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire
On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day
The war seemed over more for you than me,
But now for me than you--the other way.

How over, though, for even me who knew
The foe thrust back unsafe beyond the Rhine,
If I was not to speak of it to you
And see you pleased once more with words of mine?

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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Robert Frost

Robert Lee Frost was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States. more…

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    "To E.T." Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 18 Sep. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/30943/to-e.t.>.

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