Part 48

By many a sea-holm where the shock Of ocean's battle falls, and into spray Gives up its ghosts of strife; by reef and rock Ravaged by their eternal brute affray With monstrous frenzies of their shore's green foe; Where overstream and overfall and undertow Strive, snatch away; A wistful voice, without a sound, Shall dwell beside Pomona, on the sea, And speak the homeward- and the outward-bound, And touch the helm of passing minds And bid them steer as wistfully-- Saying: "He did great work, until the winds And waters hereabout that night betrayed Him to the drifting death! His work went on-- He would not be gainsaid.... Though where his bones are, no man knows, not one!"

John Helston

THE FALLEN SUBALTERN

The starshells float above, the bayonets glisten; We bear our fallen friend without a sound; Below the waiting legions lie and listen To us, who march upon their burial-ground.

Wound in the flag of England, here we lay him; The guns will flash and thunder o'er the grave; What other winding sheet should now array him, What other music should salute the brave?

As goes the Sun-god in his chariot glorious, When all his golden banners are unfurled, So goes the soldier, fallen but victorious, And leaves behind a twilight in the world.

And those who come this way, in days hereafter, Will know that here a boy for England fell, Who looked at danger with the eyes of laughter, And on the charge his days were ended well.

One last salute; the bayonets clash and glisten; With arms reversed we go without a sound: One more has joined the men who lie and listen To us, who march upon their burial-ground.

Herbert Asquith

1915

THE DEBT UNPAYABLE

What have I given, Bold sailor on the sea, In earth or heaven, That you should die for me?

What can I give, O soldier, leal and brave, Long as I live, To pay the life you gave?

What tithe or part Can I return to thee, O stricken heart, That thou shouldst break for me?

The wind of Death For you has slain life's flowers, It withereth (God grant) all weeds in ours.

F.W. Bourdillon

THE MESSAGES

"I cannot quite remember.... There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench--and three Whispered their dying messages to me...."

Back from the trenches, more dead than alive, Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a broken knee, He hobbled slowly, muttering vacantly:

"I cannot quite remember.... There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench, and three Whispered their dying messages to me....

"Their friends are waiting, wondering how they thrive-- Waiting a word in silence patiently.... But what they said, or who their friends may be

"I cannot quite remember.... There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench--and three Whispered their dying messages to me...."

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

A CROSS IN FLANDERS

In the face of death, they say, he joked--he had no fear; His comrades, when they laid him in a Flanders grave, Wrote on a rough-hewn cross--a Calvary stood near-- "Without a fear he gave

"His life, cheering his men, with laughter on his lips." So wrote they, mourning him. Yet was there only one Who fully understood his laughter, his gay quips, One only, she alone--

She who, not so long since, when love was new--confest, Herself toyed with light laughter while her eyes were dim, And jested, while with reverence despite her jest She worshipped God and him.

She knew--O Love, O Death!--his soul had been at grips With the most solemn things. For she, was she not dear? Yes, he was brave, most brave, with laughter on his lips, The braver for his fear!