And with the dawn came action, and again The spiteful interplay of static war: Dogged, with grim persistence Blood and Pain Rose venomous to greet the Morning Star. But others watched that lonely sentinel Chase fleeting fellow-stars before the day; Fresh men heard tides of thunder ebb and flow. --Stumbling in sleep, scarce heeding shot or shell, The men who fought at Gommecourt filed away: The poppies nodded as they passed below. They left the barren wilderness behind, And Gommecourt gnarled and dauntless, till they came To fields where trees unshattered took the wind, Which tossed the crimson poppy heads to flame. But one stood musing at a waking thought That spurred his blood and dimmed his searching eyes-- The primal thought that stirs the seed to birth. Here where the battling nations clashed and fought The common grass still breathed of Paradise And Love with silent lips was Lord of Earth. B. E. F. 1916. A VISION Before the dawn wind swept the troubled sky And stirred the stricken trenches far and wide, I saw the Lord of Holiness pass by, With Mary at His side. With Mary Michael passed, for I could hear His clashing arms, and see his spangled sword. Loudly I cried out, “Mother!” then in fear, “O Mother of our Lord.” For in her eyes all human sorrow burned, All tenderness lay naked when she smiled; And once she stooped to kiss, and once she turned And shuddered like a child. He moved through all the surge and clash of war, The King of Kings since Brotherhood began; But in His still and shadowed face I saw The agony of Man. And as I gazed, the ruined fields of France Loomed to the dawn in shades of shifting grey; Dumbly I stood to arms, as in a trance I watched the climbing day. Was this a dream? Yet Mary saw the sky, Lit by a vision from the darkness hurled; A little dream which made a baby cry-- A dream which saved the world. REVELATION Can death give you such dignity, and pride So beautiful it puts our grief to shame? For now we stumble as we speak your name, Yet you were just a boy before you died. We question blankly, pondering heavy-eyed, Can this be he we used to praise or blame In careless moments, ere the trial came When all the bravest hearts in anguish cried? Then, humbled, we beheld our poor disguise, False moods and manners clothed in empty speech Which drowned the silence--till there came a day That smote our vision to awakened eyes: For God bent down to bring you to our reach, But ere we touched you, you had gone away. TELL ME, STRANGER Tell me, Stranger, is it true There is magic happening, Are _all_ the dappled fields of Kew Bowing to their Lord the Spring?