They sent him back to her. The letter came.
Saying . . . and she could have him.
And before She could be sure there was no hidden ill
Under the formal writing, he was in her sight —
Living. — They gave him back to her alive —
How else? They are not known to send the dead —
And not disfigured visibly.
His face? — His hands? She had to look — to ask,
"What was it, dear?" And she had given all And still she had all
— they had — they the lucky! Wasn't she glad now?
Everything seemed won,
And all the rest for them permissable ease.
She had to ask, "What was it, dear?" "
Enough, Yet not enough. A bullet through and through,
High in the breast. Nothing but what good care And medicine and rest
— and you a week, Can cure me of to go again.
" The same Grim giving to do over for them both.
She dared no more than ask him with her eyes
How was it with him for a second trial.
And with his eyes he asked her not to ask.
They had given him back to her, but not to keep...