(Third of a loaf, half, if luck’s our way). No work, no work, no work! A lovely day! Down the main street men loiter side by side. So day goes on blue-domed till the west’s afire With the sun just sunken, though we cannot see, Hidden in green, the fall of majesty. Our hearts are lifted up, fierce with desire But once again to see the ricks, the farms, Blue roads, still trees of home in the rich glow; Life’s pageant fading slower and more slow Till Peace folds all things in with tender arms. The last stroll in the orchard ends, the last Candles are lit in bivvy and barn and cart, Where comrades talking lie, comfort at heart, Gladder for danger shared in the hard past, The stars grow bright ’gainst Heaven’s still-deepening blue, Lights in the orchard die. “I wonder how Mother is keeping: she must be sleepy now As we, yet may be wondering all night through.” DICKY (TO HIS MEMORY) They found him when the day Was yet but gloom; Six feet of scarréd clay Was ample room And wide enough domain for all desires For him, whose glowing eyes Made mock at lethargies, Were not a moment still;-- Can Death, all slayer, kill The fervent source of those exultant fires? Nay, not so; Somewhere that glow And starry shine so clear astonishes yet The wondering spirits as they come and go. Eyes that nor they nor we shall ever forget. OMIECOURT. THE DAY OF VICTORY (TO MY CITY) The dull dispiriting November weather Hung like a blight on town and tower and tree, Hardly was Beauty anywhere to see Save--how fine rain (together With spare last leaves of creepers once showed wet As it were, with blood of some high-making passion,) Drifted slow and slow.... But steadily aglow The City was, beneath its grey, and set Strong-mooded above the day’s inclemency. Flaunting from houses, over the rejoicing crowd, Flags waved; that told how nation against nation Should war no more, their wounds tending awhile:-- The sullen vanquished; Victors with heads bowed. And still the bells from the square towers pealed Victory, The whole time cried Victory, Victory flew Banners invisible argent; Music intangible A glory of spirit wandered the wide air through. All knew it, nothing mean of fire or common Ran in men’s minds; none so poor but knew Some touch of sacred wonder, noble wonder,-- Thought’s surface moving under; Life’s texture coarse transfiguring through and through.