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When Im Killed

When I’m killed, don’t think of

Buried there in Cambrin Wood,

Nor as in Zion think of

With the Intolerable Good.

And there’s one thing that I know well,

I’m damned if I’ll be damned to Hell!

So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me,

Walking the dim corridor;

In Heaven or Hell, don’t wait for me,

Or you must wait for evermore.

You’ll find me buried,

In these verses that you’ve read.

So when I’m killed, don’t mourn for me,

Shot, poor lad, so bold and young,

Killed and gone — don’t mourn for me.

On your lips my life is hung:

O friends and lovers, you can

Your playfellow from the grave.

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Robert Graves

Robert von Ranke Graves (24 July 1895 – 7 December 1985) was a British poet, historical novelist, critic, and classicist. His father was Alfred …
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