London in May
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Two long, full years have passed since I have smelt Sweet London in this happy month of May! Last year relentless War bore me away To Imbros Isle, where six sad months I dwelt Beneath a burning sun—nor ever felt One breath of gentle Spring blow o'er the bay Between whose sun-dried hills so long I lay A restless captive. Now has Fortune dealt More kindly with me: once again I know The drowsy languor of the afternoons: The soft white clouds: the may-tree's whiter snow: The star-bound evenings, and the ivory moons. My heart, dear God! leaps up till it is pain With thanks to Thee that I am here again. London. |
A Fallen Leaf
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When Death has crossed my name from out the roll Of dreaming children serving in this War; And with these earthly eyes I gaze no more Upon sweet England's grace—perhaps my soul Will visit streets down which I used to stroll At sunset-charmèd dusks, when London's roar Like ebbing surf on some Atlantic shore Would trance the ear. Then may I hear no toll Of heavy bells to burden all the air With tuneless grief: for happy will I be!— What place on earth could ever be more fair Than God's own presence?—Mourn not then for me, Nor write, I pray, "He gave"—upon my clod— "His life to England," but "his soul to God." Isle of Sheppey, 1917. |
The Star