THE RETURN
THEODORE HOWARD BANKS, JR.
in Everybody’s Magazine
Permission to reproduce in this book
WHEN I return, let us be very still;
No mirth, and but one deep, soul-searching glance,
Mindful of the unnumbered graves of France,
Where love lies buried on each trampled hill.
BULLINGTON
C. FOX SMITH
in Punch
Reproduced by special permission of the Proprietors of “Punch”
IT was the high midsummer, and the sun was shining strong,
And the lane was rather flinty, and the lane was rather long,
When—up and down the gentle hills beside the stripling Test—
I chanced to come to Bullington and stayed a while to rest.
It was drowned in peace and quiet, as the river reeds are drowned
In the water clear as crystal, flowing by with scarce a sound,
And the air was like a posy with the sweet haymaking smells,
And the Roses and Sweet Williams and Canterbury Bells.