“ON REST”
(To the Men of the 2/5 Gloucester Regiment)
It’s a King’s life, a life fit for a King!
To lie safe sheltered in some old hay-loft
Night long, on golden straw, and warm and soft,
Unroused; to hear through dreams dawn’s thrushes sing
“Revally”—drowse again; then wake to find
The bright sun through the broken tiles thick-streaming.
“Revally” real: and there’s an end to dreaming.
“Up, Boys, and Out!” Then O what green, what still
Peace in the orchard, deep and sweet and kind,
Shattered abruptly—splashing water, shout
On shout of sport, and cookhouse vessels banging,
Dixie against dixie musically clanging.—
The farmer’s wife, searching for eggs, ’midst all
Dear farmhouse cries. A stroll: and then “Breakfast’s up.”
Porridge and bacon! Tea out of a real cup
(Borrowed). First day on Rest, a Festival
Of mirth, laughter in safety, a still air.
“No whizzbangs,” “crumps” to fear, nothing to mind,
Danger and the thick brown mud behind,
An end to wiring, digging, end to care.
Now wonders begin, Sergeants with the crowd
Mix; Corporals, Lance-Corporals, little proud,
Authority forgotten, all goes well
In this our Commonwealth, with tales to tell,
Smokes to exchange, letters of price to read,
Letters of friends more sweet than daily bread.
The Sergeant-major sheathes his claws and lies
Smoking at length, content deep in his eyes.
Officers like brothers chaff and smile—
Salutes forgotten, etiquette the while,
Comrades and brothers all, one friendly band.
Now through the orchard (sun-dried of dewfall) in
And out the trees the noisy sports begin.
He that is proud of body runs, leaps, turns
Somersaults, hand-turns; the licensed jester flings
Javelins of blunt wit may bruise not pierce;
Ragtimes and any scrap of nonsense sings.
All’s equal now. It’s Rest, none cares, none escapes
The hurtless battering of those kindly japes.
Noon comes, the estaminets open welcome doors,
Men drift along the roads in three and fours,
Enter those cool-paven rooms, and sit
Waiting; many there are to serve, Madame
Forces her way with glasses, all ignores
The impatient clamour of that thirsty jam,
The outcries, catcalls, queries, doubtful wit,
Alike. Newspapers come, “Journal, m’sieur?”
“What’s the news?” “Anything fresh, boy?” “Tell us what’s new.”
Dinner, perhaps a snooze, perhaps a stroll.
Tea, letters (most like), rations to divide
(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.
Joking, friendly-quarrelling, holiday-making,
Eddying hither, thither, without stay
That concourse went, squibs, crackers, squibbing, cracking—
Laughter gay
All common-jovial noises sounded, bugles triumphing masterful, strident, clear above all,
Hail fellow, cat-call ...
Yet one discerned
A new spirit learnt of pain, some great
Acceptance out of hard endurance learned
And truly; wrested bare of hand from Fate.
The soldier from his body slips the pack,
Staggers, relaxes, crouches, then lies back,
Glad for the end of torment. Here was more.