The day grows fainter, moonlit evening fills With calm and cool the lilac-scented land, And I feel--were I on the western hills, At last, at last, now might I understand These mysteries of Life; how things began, And why I love my darling as I do, And how came longing to the soul of Man, And whether Death must sever me from you. Ah, hush! A spirit moves abroad, whose veil The poets would give all the world to raise, But, failing, tell some wistful fairy-tale, And laugh, and weep, and go their several ways. The birds are sleeping: nay, I do not know What's in the twilight, makes my heart beat so! _VERA M. BRITTAIN_ (_SOMERVILLE_) TO A V.C. Because your feet were stayed upon that road Whereon the others swiftly came and passed, Because the harvest you and they had sowed You only reaped at last. Tis not your valour's meed alone you bear Who stand the object of a nation's pride, For on that humble Cross you live to wear Your friends were crucified. They shared with you the conquest over fear, Sublime self-disregard, decision's power, But Death, relentless, left you lonely here In recognition's hour. Their sign is yours to carry to the end; The lost reward of gallant hearts as true As yours they called their leader and their friend Is worn for them by you. _H. T. BURT_ (_BALLIOL_) FROM THEIR DUST Not in their immortality alone Live those bright spirits who for honour spent Their rich inheritance of years, and went Gay-heartedly to meet the wide unknown. Not though the fields where their young limbs were strown Once more be chartered by the foeman's tent, And all the achieving of their tournament Be scattered to the winds or overthrown. For from their memory and quickening dust Shall spring the flashing squadrons of the dawn; And they shall set their spears and ride afar To seek and battle, thrust and counterthrust, For grails from our beclouded eyes withdrawn, The champion warriors of a holier war. ERRATUM. _For_ H. I. Burt _read_ H. T. Burt, to whom also should be attributed "Pilot and Clouds" (page 9). _F. W. BUTLER-THWING_ (_NEW COLLEGE_) THE TRAMP-SHIP Sailing over summer seas, Seeking ports of rest, Dancing with the dancing breeze, Host and guest. Calmed beside the setting sun, Lifeless on the deep, Waiting till the halt be done And the sleep. Driving 'gainst the sullen storm, Striking hard the foe, Gallant heart and gallant form Breast the snow. Homeward, homeward in the years, All thy pennons fly; Bravely onward, smiles and tears, Home to die. _July, 1911._ PILOT AND CLOUDS