English poem
Iii.--Nearer
by Robert Nichols (1893–1944)
Nearer and ever nearer.... My body, tired but tense, Hovers 'twixt vague pleasure And tremulous confidence.
Arms to have and to use them And a soul to be made Worthy if not worthy; If afraid, unafraid.
To endure for a little, To endure and have done: Men I love about me, Over me the sun!
And should at last suddenly Fly the speeding death, The four great quarters of heaven Receive this little breath.