We waited, as the thundering curtain swept Our sector, and torn shards of iron fell; Dust from the parapet in showers leapt Swirled up by bursting shell. We waited, like a storm-bespattered ship That flutters sail to free her grounded keel; The tingling moments tightened every grip On rifles lanced with steel. We knew the man who led us. All could hear His ringing voice re-echo loud and strong, Born of that higher bravery when fear. Is battled into song. Then sudden fury lulled and far behind Like angered beasts our batteries replied-- And suddenly he stumbled, dazed and blind. He lay, but ere he died He struggled for a while, then dimly smiled, Wrapped in the comradeship of happy things, Before he entered like a wondering child The heritage of kings. REALITY Below my room the noise and measured beat Of marching men re-echoed loud and clear; Now bobbing cavalry swung down the street; Now mules and rumbling batteries drew near. But all is dim--The rolling wagon-stream To Amiens between the aspen trees, The stables, billets, men and horses, seem Dead mummers of forgotten fantasies. Only my dreams are still aglow, a throng Of scenes that crowded through a waiting mind A myriad scenes: For I have swept along To foam ashriek with gulls, and rowed behind Brown oarsmen swinging to an ocean song Where stately galleons bowed before the wind. “WE POETS OF THE PROUD OLD LINEAGE” Apart we labour, and alone we climb The barren heights; for we the singing throng Whose lives were hallowed by impassioned song Must die or prove unworthy of our rhyme. Man after man--we know the price of wars Who watched the mask of Night whilst others slept, And spread our laughter far and wide, but kept Our tears and terror privy to the stars. 0 magic gift omnipotent, to sing And conjure Heaven from surrounding Hell. Our lips and eyes are touched (for we have seen Celestial weavers at the loom of Spring). But O the iron bitterness and keen Of voices ever clamouring farewell! III MISCELLANEOUS POEMS SONG Would I could commandeer the bees To hum you droning symphonies. I love the climbing thoughts that rise To the sheer heaven of your eyes, Wide laughter-dromes of wondering blue, Yes, yes, I do! But when I sing of bubbling seas, The zephyr-clapping hands of trees Applauding in tumultuous skies, Or window-winged dragonflies, Or anything that’s good and true I sing of you-- Yes, yes, I do! THE SHADOW