A Treasury of War Poetry Part 31

"HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE"

Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve!

Not one of these poor men who died But did within his soul believe That death for thee was glorified.

Ever they watched it hovering near That mystery 'yond thought to plumb, Perchance sometimes in loathed fear They heard cold Danger whisper, Come!--

Heard and obeyed. O, if thou weep Such courage and honour, beauty, care, Be it for joy that those who sleep Only thy joy could share.

_Walter de la Mare_

THE DEBT

No more old England will they see-- Those men who've died for you and me.

So lone and cold they lie; but we, We still have life; we still may greet Our pleasant friends in home and street; We still have life, are able still To climb the turf of Bignor Hill, To see the placid sheep go by, To hear the sheep-dog's eager cry, To feel the sun, to taste the rain, To smell the Autumn's scents again Beneath the brown and gold and red Which old October's brush has spread, To hear the robin in the lane, To look upon the English sky.

So young they were, so strong and well, Until the bitter summons fell-- Too young to die.

Yet there on foreign soil they lie, So pitiful, with gla.s.sy eye And limbs all tumbled anyhow: Quite finished, now.

On every heart--lest we forget-- Secure at home--engrave this debt!

Too delicate is flesh to be The s.h.i.+eld that nations interpose 'Twixt red Ambition and his foes-- The bastion of Liberty.

So beautiful their bodies were, Built with so exquisite a care: So young and fit and lithe and fair.

The very flower of us were they, The very flower, but yesterday!

Yet now so pitiful they lie, Where love of country bade them hie To fight this fierce Caprice--and die.

All mangled now, where sh.e.l.ls have burst, And lead and steel have done their worst; The tender tissues ploughed away, The years' slow processes effaced: The Mother of us all--disgraced.

And some leave wives behind, young wives; Already some have launched new lives: A little daughter, little son-- For thus this blundering world goes on.

But never more will any see The old secure felicity, The kindnesses that made us glad Before the world went mad.

They'll never hear another bird, Another gay or loving word-- Those men who lie so cold and lone, Far in a country not their own; Those men who died for you and me, That England still might sheltered be And all our lives go on the same (Although to live is almost shame).

_E.V. Lucas_

_REQUIESCANT_

In lonely watches night by night Great visions burst upon my sight, For down the stretches of the sky The hosts of dead go marching by.

Strange ghostly banners o'er them float, Strange bugles sound an awful note, And all their faces and their eyes Are lit with starlight from the skies.

The anguish and the pain have pa.s.sed And peace hath come to them at last, But in the stern looks linger still The iron purpose and the will.

Dear Christ, who reign'st above the flood Of human tears and human blood, A weary road these men have trod, O house them in the home of G.o.d!

_Frederick George Scott_

_In a Field near Ypres_

_April, 1915_

TO OUR FALLEN

Ye sleepers, who will sing you?

We can but give our tears-- Ye dead men, who shall bring you Fame in the coming years?

Brave souls ... but who remembers The flame that fired your embers?...

Deep, deep the sleep that holds you Who one time had no peers.

Yet maybe Fame's but seeming And praise you'd set aside, Content to go on dreaming, Yea, happy to have died If of all things you prayed for-- All things your valour paid for-- One prayer is not forgotten, One purchase not denied.

But G.o.d grants your dear England A strength that shall not cease Till she have won for all the Earth From ruthless men release, And made supreme upon her Mercy and Truth and Honour-- Is this the thing you died for?

Oh, Brothers, sleep in peace!

_Robert Ernest Vernede_

THE OLD SOLDIER

Lest the young soldiers be strange in heaven, G.o.d bids the old soldier they all adored Come to Him and wait for them, clean, new-shriven, A happy doorkeeper in the House of the Lord.

Lest it abash them, the strange new splendour, Lest it affright them, the new robes clean; Here's an old face, now, long-tried, and tender, A word and a hand-clasp as they troop in.

"My boys," he greets them: and heaven is homely, He their great captain in days gone o'er; Dear is the friend's face, honest and comely, Waiting to welcome them by the strange door.

_Katharine Tynan_

LORD KITCHENER

Unflinching hero, watchful to foresee And face thy country's peril wheresoe'er, Directing war and peace with equal care, Till by long duty enn.o.bled thou wert he Whom England call'd and bade "Set my arm free To obey my will and save my honour fair,"-- What day the foe presumed on her despair And she herself had trust in none but thee: