By many a sea-holm where the shock Of ocean's battle falls, and into spray Gives up its ghosts of strife; by reef and rock Ravaged by their eternal brute affray With monstrous frenzies of their shore's green foe; Where overstream and overfall and undertow Strive, snatch away; A wistful voice, without a sound, Shall dwell beside Pomona, on the sea, And speak the homeward- and the outward-bound, And touch the helm of passing minds And bid them steer as wistfully-- Saying: "He did great work, until the winds And waters hereabout that night betrayed Him to the drifting death! His work went on-- He would not be gainsaid.... Though where his bones are, no man knows, not one!" _John Helston_ THE FALLEN SUBALTERN The starshells float above, the bayonets glisten; We bear our fallen friend without a sound; Below the waiting legions lie and listen To us, who march upon their burial-ground. Wound in the flag of England, here we lay him; The guns will flash and thunder o'er the grave; What other winding sheet should now array him, What other music should salute the brave? As goes the Sun-god in his chariot glorious, When all his golden banners are unfurled, So goes the soldier, fallen but victorious, And leaves behind a twilight in the world. And those who come this way, in days hereafter, Will know that here a boy for England fell, Who looked at danger with the eyes of laughter, And on the charge his days were ended well. One last salute; the bayonets clash and glisten; With arms reversed we go without a sound: One more has joined the men who lie and listen To us, who march upon their burial-ground. _Herbert Asquith_ _1915_ THE DEBT UNPAYABLE What have I given, Bold sailor on the sea, In earth or heaven, That you should die for me? What can I give, O soldier, leal and brave, Long as I live, To pay the life you gave? What tithe or part Can I return to thee, O stricken heart, That thou shouldst break for me? The wind of Death For you has slain life's flowers, It withereth (God grant) all weeds in ours. _F.W. Bourdillon_ THE MESSAGES "I cannot quite remember.... There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench--and three Whispered their dying messages to me...." Back from the trenches, more dead than alive, Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a broken knee, He hobbled slowly, muttering vacantly: "I cannot quite remember.... There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench, and three Whispered their dying messages to me.... "Their friends are waiting, wondering how they thrive-- Waiting a word in silence patiently.... But what they said, or who their friends may be "I cannot quite remember.... There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench--and three Whispered their dying messages to me...." _Wilfrid Wilson Gibson_ A CROSS IN FLANDERS