Clutch us with hands whose work was just begun,
Laid idle now beneath the earth we tread—
And always we shall walk with the young dead—
Ah, how I pity the young dead, whose eyes
Strain through the sod to see these perfect skies,
Who feel the new wheat springing in their stead,
And the lark singing for them overhead!
WITH THE TIDE
[6th January 1919]
Somewhere I read, in an old book whose name
Is gone from me, I read that when the days