A.E. Housman's little poem about the dead of World War I still has the power to make shivers run up and down the spine. Yet the pathos he evokes depends utterly, it seems to me, on the "Because..." clause in the first stanza. In other words, there was a reason why the young men died. Negatively, it was called shame; positively, honor. The sadness of their loss is actually all the greater because Housman accepts this reason calmly, as a given, without comment or criticism.
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