M. ST. CLARE BYRNE
(SOMERVILLE)
“AND ONE FELL BY THE WAYSIDE ...”
SCHOLAR, and man of letters, and daintily nurtured,
You were one with your peers,
Leaving the half-told story,
Throwing away the dear things of this life-time—
All you found was the steady, silent effort,
Only the toilsome moulding, the shaping the weapon,
None of the keen sword-glory.
Not for you the crown and the consummation,
Not the battle-death, sharp, swift, and kindly;
Only the early plodding on, half blindly,
Only seeing the end by the faith of the spirit,
Only the hardest of all, the preparation,
All the heart-breaking spadework,
Formulas, initiation;
Only the snows of December ...
Under the snow the quiet brown land lies sleeping,
Waiting the breath of Spring—
God will remember.
J. E. A. CARVER
(MAGDALEN)
EVENING
THE children play, and the old folk talk
In the silent village square,
While the wagons jolt, and the belfry’s note
Comes floating through the air.
The white owl hoots from his lofty seat;
In the fields the rabbits play;
The weazel squeaks, and the red fox sneaks
From his lair at close of day.
The final signs of departing day
Burst out in its changing hues,
While the stars pearl out in the azure sky,
And silent fall the dews.