Produced by David E. Brown, Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) TWO FISHERS _We are the music-makers And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers And sitting by desolate streams._ ARTHUR W. E. O'SHAUGHNESSY. TWO FISHERS and Other Poems BY HERBERT E. PALMER LONDON ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET 1918 Dedicated TO THREE FRIENDS CAPTAIN L. W. CHARLEY H. T. P. AND PROFESSOR L. O'B. TWO FISHERS When the War is over, Charley, We'll go fishing once again. You'll be a new man, Charley, When you walk with fishermen. For we'll seek a leaping river I know far among the fells; You'll forget the War there, Charley, Where the springing water wells. It's God's own land for the nimble trout, And ferns and waving flowers, The bracken and the bilberry, And the ash the coral dowers. There are rolling leagues of heather, Lone hills where the plovers call. Oh, we'll climb those hills together Ere the last dews fall! And we'll talk to the wild creatures In the crannies of the moors; Oh, our hearts will mount to Heaven When the merry lark soars! All our days will shine with gladness, All our nights with calm repose. And we'll throw a fly together Where the rushing stream flows. Nature has been to me lately As a fair and radiant bride, She has drawn me with strange gentleness To the hollow of her side. She has gone forth like a warrior With pricking glaive and spear, And Grief has quailed in his ambush When her flashing arms drew near. I never loved sweet England Till she kissed me in the West, The sun upon her shining brows And the purple on her breast, Breathing songs of low compassion To my spirit as it cried, When I mourned that sinning country Which had thrust me from her side. All the wooded hills of the Eifel, All the vine-bergs of the Rhine, All the glimmering strands of the Baltic, All the Brocken black with pine, Hold no tenderness of Beauty, (Beauty in the spirit dwells,) Such as smiles from one sweet valley Darkling 'mid the Western fells. * * * * * Do you remember, old fellow, When we fished near Altenahr, Where the red wine was flowing And the bowl flashed a star? Do you remember the big schutzmann, With his sword by his side, Who guessed that you were poaching, And scared you off to hide? Oh, if he'd only known, Charley, When you sought the bridge's cover That you'd join the British Army And go killing of his brother, He'd have searched bank and vineyard For a poacher of such worth, And put you in a prison cell To cool your summer's mirth.