The notes of day’s good-bye arise and blend
With the low murmurous hum from tree and sod,
And swell into that question at the end
They ask each night of God—
Whether the dead within the burial ground
Will ever overthrow their crosses grey,
And rise triumphant from each lowly mound
To greet the dawning day.
Whether the eyes which battle sealed in sleep
Will open to reveillé once again,
And forms, once mangled, into rapture leap,
Forgetful of their pain.
But still the stars above the camp shine on,
Giving no answer for our sorrow’s ease,
And one more day with the Last Post has gone
Dying upon the breeze.
Étaples, 1918.
THE ASPIRANT
(A Plea)
Because I dare to stand outside the gate
Of that high temple wherein Fame abides,
And loudly knock, too eager to await
Whate’er betides,
May God forgive, since He alone can see
The joys that others have but I must miss,
For how shall Compensation come to me
If not through this?
Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.