Dear friend, dear brother,
I have owed you
Since many days, the tribute of a song.
Shall I cheat you who never did a
To any man ?
No, therefore though I
All art, all skill, in this short
From my soul's war against the bitter
Of present woes, let these poor lines be
In love enough to bear a brother's kiss.
Dear saint, true knight,
I cannot weep for you,
Nor if I could would I call back the
To your dear body ;
God is very wise,
All that this year had in its womb He knew,
And, loving you,
He sent His Son like Death,
To put His hand over your kind gray eyes.
Lord Francis Archibald Douglas,
Viscount
He was killed by the Accidental Explosion of his gun, in October 18, 1894
