I hate it worst when it's cruel and round and bright, And you can't make out the marks on its stupid face, Except when you shut your eyelashes, and all night The sky looks green, and the world's a horrible place. I like the stars, and especially the Big Bear And the W star, and one like a diamond ring, But I _hate_ the Moon and its horrible stony stare, And I know one day it'll do me some dreadful thing. BIG WORDS "I've whined of coming death, but now, no more! It's weak and most ungracious. For, say I, Though still a boy if years are counted, why! I've lived those years from roof to cellar-floor, And feel, like grey-beards touching their fourscore, Ready, so soon as the need comes, to die: And I'm satisfied. For winning confidence in those quiet days Of peace, poised sickly on the precipice side Of Lliwedd crag by Snowdon, and in war Finding it firmlier with me than before; Winning a faith in the wisdom of God's ways That once I lost, finding it justified Even in this chaos; winning love that stays And warms the heart like wine at Easter-tide; Having earlier tried False loves in plenty; oh! my cup of praise Brims over, and I know I'll feel small sorrow, Confess no sins and make no weak delays If death ends all and I must die to-morrow." But on the firestep, waiting to attack, He cursed, prayed, sweated, wished the proud words back. THE DEAD FOX HUNTER We found the little captain at the head; His men lay well aligned. We touched his hand--stone-cold--and he was dead, And they, all dead behind, Had never reached their goal, but they died well; They charged in line, and in the same line fell. The well-known rosy colours of his face Were almost lost in grey. We saw that, dying and in hopeless case, For others' sake that day He'd smothered all rebellious groans: in death His fingers were tight clenched between his teeth. For those who live uprightly and die true Heaven has no bars or locks, And serves all taste.... Or what's for him to do Up there, but hunt the fox? Angelic choirs? No, Justice must provide For one who rode straight and at hunting died. So if Heaven had no Hunt before he came, Why, it must find one now: If any shirk and doubt they know the game, There's one to teach them how: And the whole host of Seraphim complete Must jog in scarlet to his opening Meet. IT'S A QUEER TIME It's hard to know if you're alive or dead When steel and fire go roaring through your head.