(Fighter-Pilot, killed in action, 1940)
How brilliantly you flew for such short years,
Roger, across the small horizon of my life,
Like laughter, borne on shining wings!
Now you have sped into the Sun,
And stand ennobled in proud robes of flame.
We can no longer see you,
For the light that clothes you is too fine a fire
For our dull, ordinary eyes;
But every day we shall remember you
In the brave glory of the golden sun.