(“You cannot think how ghastly these battle-fields look under a grey sky. Torn trees are the most terrible things I have ever seen. Absolute blight and curse is on the face of everything.”)
The dead land oppressed me;
I turned my thoughts away,
And went where hill and meadow
Are shadowless and gay.
Where Coopers stands by Cranham,
Where the hill-gashes white
Show golden in the sunshine,
Our sunshine—God’s delight.
Beauty my feet stayed at last
Where green was most cool,
Trees worthy of all worship
I worshipped ... then, O fool,
Let my thoughts slide unwitting
To other, dreadful trees, ...
And found me standing, staring
Sick of heart—at these!
REQUIEM
Pour out your light, O stars, and do not hold
Your loveliest shining from earth’s outworn shell—
Pure and cold your radiance, pure and cold
My dead friend’s face as well.
REQUIEM
Nor grief nor tears should wrong the silent dead
Save England’s, for her children fallen so far
From her eager care; though by God’s justice led
And fallen in such a war.