The heart is kindled by it, And lifted as with wine, In Lassington and Highnam-- The woodlands that were mine. WHAT WE THINK OF Walking round our cages like the lions at the Zoo, We think of things that we have done, and things we mean to do: Of girls we left behind us, of letters that are due, Of boating on the river beneath a sky of blue, Of hills we climbed together--not always for the view. Walking round our cages like the lions at the Zoo, We see the phantom faces of you, and you, and you, Faces of those we loved or loathed--oh every one we knew! And deeds we wrought in carelessness for happiness or rue, And dreams we broke in folly, and seek to build anew,-- Walking round our cages like the lions at the Zoo. PRISONERS Comrades of risk and rigour long ago Who have done battle under honour’s name, Hoped (living or shot down) some meed of fame, And wooed bright Danger for a thrilling kiss,-- Laugh, oh laugh well, that we have come to this! Laugh, oh laugh loud, all ye who long ago Adventure found in gallant company! Safe in Stagnation, laugh, laugh bitterly, While on this filthiest backwater of Time’s flow Drift we and rot, till something set us free! Laugh like old men with senses atrophied, Heeding no Present, to the Future dead, Nodding quite foolish by the warm fireside And seeing no flame, but only in the red And flickering embers, pictures of the past:-- Life like a cinder fading black at last. SONNET (TO ONE KILLED IN ACTION) My undevout yet ardent sacrifice Did God refuse, knowing how carelessly And with what curious sensuality The coloured flames did flicker and arise. Half boy, half decadent, always my eyes Sparkle to danger: Oh it was joy to me To sit with Death gambling desperately The borrowed Coin of Life. But you, more wise, Went forth for nothing but to do God’s will: Went gravely out--well knowing what you did And hating it--with feet that did not falter To place your gift upon the highest altar. Therefore to you this last and finest thrill Is given--even Death itself, to me forbid. THE HATEFUL ROAD Oh pleasant things there be Without this prison yard: Fields green, and many a tree With shadow on the sward, And drifting clouds that pass Sailing above the grass. All lovely things that be Beyond this strong abode Send comfort back to me; Yea, everything I see Except the hateful road; The road that runs so free With many a dip and rise, That waves and beckons me And mocks and calls at me And will not let me be Even when I close my eyes. ENGLISH FLOWERS IN A FOREIGN GARDEN