Oxford poetry, 1919

College verse, English -- England -- Oxford; English poetry -- 20th century
V. DE S. PINTO (CHRIST CHURCH)

 STATION                          46
 SWANS                            47

 H. S. REID (SOMERVILLE)

 A DREAM                          48

 E. RENDALL (HOME STUDENT)

 EPITAPH                          49

 D. L. SAYERS (SOMERVILLE)

 FOR PHAON                        50
 SYMPATHY                         51
 VIALS FULL OF ODOURS             52

 W. FORCE STEAD (QUEEN'S)

 THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT           53

 L. A. G. STRONG (WADHAM)

 AT PUNNET'S TOWN                 55
 DALLINGTON                       56
 EENA-MENA-MINA-MO                57

 D. A. E. WALLACE (SOMERVILLE)

 IMPROMPTU IN MARCH               59
 IN NEW COLLEGE CLOISTERS         60
 THE BEGGAR-MAIDEN                61

 J. L. WING (MAGDALEN)

 LOUIS ONZE                       62




  _H. M. ANDREWS_
  (_NEW COLLEGE_)


SONG

    I met a sage at the break of day,
    And he welcomed me with a smile;
    He spoke his words of encouragement
    And we parted after a while.

    I met a fair lady when all was bright,
    And the sun was burning on high;
    She turned to me with her deep, dark eyes
    And sold herself for a lie.

    I met a child when the world was dark
    And I was drear and alone;
    The child spoke naught,
    But the dark became light;
    The day of glory had come.

    The barren ground shone with splendour high,
    Bare branches dripped with gold,
    And the earth was transformed to heaven,
    Just as the sage foretold.




    _T. H. W. ARMSTRONG_
    (_KEBLE_)


HERITAGE

    Here in my glass is blood of kings,
    The life-blood of a race that lies
    Long dead. The jewels burning in your rings
    Are an Egyptian woman's eyes.

    Your beads are dead bones; even my breath
    Breathes hot words that were others' pain.
    Now these fair things are ours awhile, till death
    Brings us to quiet sleep again.

    Then we shall put our love aside
    For lovers of a later birth,
    And leave to them this body's fragrant pride,
    For jewels, in the heart of earth.


WATCHING

    Midnight at last! And you, I know,
    Are sleeping there
    Peaceful. Stars keep
    Great guard upon you. Calm, and still, and white
    You are. One moment all your pale swift hair
    Is quiet as the night.

    Here in this mud, this beastliness
    Of war, the thought
    Of your soft sleep
    Soothes a tired mind as a rare ointment may
    Comfort a wound, sweet-scented ointment brought
    From strange lands, far away.


LONELINESS

    I watched the moon behind the trees
    Float in a sea of sky.
    The aspen whispers in the breeze,
    The rest is silence now. And I
    Can feel my loneliness around
    Me fall. No human face
    There is. None speaks. Never a sound
    Save whispering leaves in this still place.

    I have two friends, and they are dead,
    Perhaps about their graves
    Are trees that whisper overhead,
    While in the grass the nettle waves.




    _P. BLOOMFIELD_
    (_BALLIOL_)


TWILIGHT
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Oxford poetry, 1919

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