'Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb...'

 Edward Thomas died on this day in 1917, killed by a shell on Vimy ridge. It was a sad loss to English poetry, an unbearable loss to his family, and a particular loss to his fellow poet Robert Frost, who enjoyed an intense friendship with Thomas and inspired him – previously a prose writer only – to write poetry, with wonderful results. 
Three years after Thomas's death, Frost wrote this poem, To E.T.

I slumbered with your poems on my breast 

Spread open as I dropped them half-read through 

Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb 

To see, if in a dream they brought of you, 

I might not have the chance I missed in life 

Through some delay, and call you to your face 

First soldier, and then poet, and then both, 

Who died a soldier-poet of your race. 

I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain 

Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained— 

And one thing more that was not then to say: 

The Victory for what it lost and gained. 

You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire 

On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day 

The war seemed over more for you than me, 

But now for me than you—the other way. 

How over, though, for even me who knew 

The foe thrust back unsafe beyond the Rhine, 

If I was not to speak of it to you 

And see you pleased once more with words of mine?