ONE long, sweet kiss pressed close upon my lips, One moment’s rest on your swift-beating heart, And all was over, for the hour had come For us to part. A sudden forward motion of the train, The world grown dark although the sun still shone, One last blurred look through aching tear-dimmed eyes-- And you were gone. TO A FALLEN IDOL O YOU who sought to rend the stars from Heaven But rent instead your too-ambitious heart, Know that with those to whom Love’s joy is given You have not, nor can ever have, a part. A nation’s loyalty might have been your glory, And men have blessed your name from shore to shore, But you have set the seal upon your story, And must go hence, alone for evermore. TO MONSEIGNEUR (R.A.L., LIEUTENANT, WORCESTERS) NONE shall dispute Your kingship, nor declare Another could have held the place You hold, For though he brought me finer gifts than gold, And laid before my feet his heart made bare Of all but love for me, and sighed despair If I but feigned my favours to withhold, And would repudiate as sadly cold The proud and lofty manner that You wear, He would not be my pure and stainless knight Of heart without reproach or hint of fear, Who walks unscathed amid War’s sordid ways By base desire or bloodshed’s grim delight, But ever holds his hero’s honour dear-- Roland of Roncesvalles in modern days. 1ST LONDON GENERAL HOSPITAL, _November 1915._ THE ONLY SON THE storm beats loud, and you are far away, The night is wild, On distant fields of battle breaks the day, My little child? I sought to shield you from the least of ills In bygone years, I soothed with dreams of manhood’s far-off hills Your baby fears, But could not save you from the shock of strife; With radiant eyes You seized the sword and in the path of Life You sought your prize. The tempests rage, but you are fast asleep; Though winds be wild They cannot break your endless slumbers deep, My little child. PERHAPS---- (TO R.A.L. DIED OF WOUNDS IN FRANCE, DECEMBER 23RD, 1915) PERHAPS some day the sun will shine again, And I shall see that still the skies are blue, And feel once more I do not live in vain, Although bereft of You. Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet Will make the sunny hours of Spring seem gay, And I shall find the white May blossoms sweet, Though You have passed away. Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright, And crimson roses once again be fair, And autumn harvest fields a rich delight, Although You are not there.