A chant of love for England, and other poems

by Helen Gray Cone

With the might of music, all:

The prescience proud, the morning aspiration,

But most the unuttered vow, the inward consecration!

THE ENCOUNTER

There’s a wood-way winding high,

Roofed far up with light-green flicker,

Save one midmost star of sky.

Underfoot ’tis all pale brown

With the dead leaves matted down

One on other, thick and thicker;