The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoemsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: PoemsAuthor: Geoffrey DearmerRelease date: December 27, 2016 [eBook #53818]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif, Bryan Ness andthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from imagesgenerously made available by The Internet Archive/CanadianLibraries)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: PoemsAuthor: Geoffrey DearmerRelease date: December 27, 2016 [eBook #53818]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif, Bryan Ness andthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from imagesgenerously made available by The Internet Archive/CanadianLibraries)
Title: Poems
Author: Geoffrey Dearmer
Author: Geoffrey Dearmer
Release date: December 27, 2016 [eBook #53818]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif, Bryan Ness andthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from imagesgenerously made available by The Internet Archive/CanadianLibraries)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
POEMS
BYGEOFFREY DEARMERcolophonNEW YORKRobert M. McBride & Company1918
At Suvla when a sickening curse of soundCame hurtling from the shrapnel-shaken skies,Without a word you shuddered to the groundAnd with a gesture hid your darkening eyes.You are not blind to-day—But were we blind before you went away?Forgive us then, if, faltering, we failTo speak in terms articulate of you;Now Death’s celestial journeymen unveilYour naked soul—the soul we hardly knew.O beauty scarce unfurled,Your blood shall help to purify the world.Awakened now, no longer we believeKnight-errantry a myth of long ago.Let us not shame your happiness and grieve;All close we feel you live and move, we knowYour life shall ever beClose to our lives enshrined eternally.
At Suvla when a sickening curse of soundCame hurtling from the shrapnel-shaken skies,Without a word you shuddered to the groundAnd with a gesture hid your darkening eyes.You are not blind to-day—But were we blind before you went away?Forgive us then, if, faltering, we failTo speak in terms articulate of you;Now Death’s celestial journeymen unveilYour naked soul—the soul we hardly knew.O beauty scarce unfurled,Your blood shall help to purify the world.Awakened now, no longer we believeKnight-errantry a myth of long ago.Let us not shame your happiness and grieve;All close we feel you live and move, we knowYour life shall ever beClose to our lives enshrined eternally.
At Suvla when a sickening curse of soundCame hurtling from the shrapnel-shaken skies,Without a word you shuddered to the groundAnd with a gesture hid your darkening eyes.You are not blind to-day—But were we blind before you went away?
Forgive us then, if, faltering, we failTo speak in terms articulate of you;Now Death’s celestial journeymen unveilYour naked soul—the soul we hardly knew.O beauty scarce unfurled,Your blood shall help to purify the world.
Awakened now, no longer we believeKnight-errantry a myth of long ago.Let us not shame your happiness and grieve;All close we feel you live and move, we knowYour life shall ever beClose to our lives enshrined eternally.
My thanks are due to the editors of theNineteenth Century,Cornhill Magazine,Observer,New Statesman, andWestminster Gazette, for permission to reprint certain of these poems.
TheIsle of Imbros, set in turquoise blue,Lies to the westward; on the eastern sideThe purple hills of Asia fade from view,And rolling battleships at anchor ride.White flocks of cloud float by, the sunset glows,And dipping gulls fleck a slow-waking sea,Where dim steel-shadowed forms with foaming bowsWind up the Narrows towards Gallipoli.No colour breaks this tongue of barren landSave where a group of huddled tents gleams white;Before me ugly shapes like spectres stand,And wooden crosses cleave the waning light.Celestial gardeners speed the hurrying dayAnd sow the plains of night with silver grain;So shall this transient havoc fade awayAnd the proud cape be beautiful again.Laden with figs and olives, or a freightOf purple grapes, tanned singing men shall row,Chanting wild songs of how Eternal FateWithstood that fierce invasion long ago.
TheIsle of Imbros, set in turquoise blue,Lies to the westward; on the eastern sideThe purple hills of Asia fade from view,And rolling battleships at anchor ride.White flocks of cloud float by, the sunset glows,And dipping gulls fleck a slow-waking sea,Where dim steel-shadowed forms with foaming bowsWind up the Narrows towards Gallipoli.No colour breaks this tongue of barren landSave where a group of huddled tents gleams white;Before me ugly shapes like spectres stand,And wooden crosses cleave the waning light.Celestial gardeners speed the hurrying dayAnd sow the plains of night with silver grain;So shall this transient havoc fade awayAnd the proud cape be beautiful again.Laden with figs and olives, or a freightOf purple grapes, tanned singing men shall row,Chanting wild songs of how Eternal FateWithstood that fierce invasion long ago.
TheIsle of Imbros, set in turquoise blue,Lies to the westward; on the eastern sideThe purple hills of Asia fade from view,And rolling battleships at anchor ride.
White flocks of cloud float by, the sunset glows,And dipping gulls fleck a slow-waking sea,Where dim steel-shadowed forms with foaming bowsWind up the Narrows towards Gallipoli.
No colour breaks this tongue of barren landSave where a group of huddled tents gleams white;Before me ugly shapes like spectres stand,And wooden crosses cleave the waning light.
Celestial gardeners speed the hurrying dayAnd sow the plains of night with silver grain;So shall this transient havoc fade awayAnd the proud cape be beautiful again.
Laden with figs and olives, or a freightOf purple grapes, tanned singing men shall row,Chanting wild songs of how Eternal FateWithstood that fierce invasion long ago.
Lord, keep him near to me:Revive his image, let my darkening sightRenew his life by death intensified(His beating life so pitifully tried)That we may face the nightAnd shade the agony.We pray in barren stressWhere stricken men await the shrill alarmAnd nightly watch, in silent order set,The beckoning stars enshrine the parapet.Lord, keep his soul from harmAnd grant him happiness.When all the world is free,And, cleansed and purified by floods of painWe turn, and see the light in human eyes;When the last echo of War’s thunder dies;Lord, let us pause againIn silent memory.Gallipoli,October, 1915.
Lord, keep him near to me:Revive his image, let my darkening sightRenew his life by death intensified(His beating life so pitifully tried)That we may face the nightAnd shade the agony.We pray in barren stressWhere stricken men await the shrill alarmAnd nightly watch, in silent order set,The beckoning stars enshrine the parapet.Lord, keep his soul from harmAnd grant him happiness.When all the world is free,And, cleansed and purified by floods of painWe turn, and see the light in human eyes;When the last echo of War’s thunder dies;Lord, let us pause againIn silent memory.Gallipoli,October, 1915.
Lord, keep him near to me:Revive his image, let my darkening sightRenew his life by death intensified(His beating life so pitifully tried)That we may face the nightAnd shade the agony.
We pray in barren stressWhere stricken men await the shrill alarmAnd nightly watch, in silent order set,The beckoning stars enshrine the parapet.Lord, keep his soul from harmAnd grant him happiness.
When all the world is free,And, cleansed and purified by floods of painWe turn, and see the light in human eyes;When the last echo of War’s thunder dies;Lord, let us pause againIn silent memory.
Gallipoli,October, 1915.
Thedays shall darken and sink down to Night,And Night shall break in the bleak dawn of Day:The years shall dim his face, our fleeting sightShall see his splendid image fade awayBeyond the knowledge of our drifting thoughtWhich moves in circles to the source again,Beyond dark seas with shivering stars inwroughtBeyond war-burdened men in stricken pain.I searched in rage and passionate despairDown winding paths of thought, and comradelessIn the full surge and tumult where he diedI turned; and saw my Brother standing there.His face was like a dawning happiness—I saw wounds in his hands, his feet, his side.Gallipoli,October, 1915.
Thedays shall darken and sink down to Night,And Night shall break in the bleak dawn of Day:The years shall dim his face, our fleeting sightShall see his splendid image fade awayBeyond the knowledge of our drifting thoughtWhich moves in circles to the source again,Beyond dark seas with shivering stars inwroughtBeyond war-burdened men in stricken pain.I searched in rage and passionate despairDown winding paths of thought, and comradelessIn the full surge and tumult where he diedI turned; and saw my Brother standing there.His face was like a dawning happiness—I saw wounds in his hands, his feet, his side.Gallipoli,October, 1915.
Thedays shall darken and sink down to Night,And Night shall break in the bleak dawn of Day:The years shall dim his face, our fleeting sightShall see his splendid image fade awayBeyond the knowledge of our drifting thoughtWhich moves in circles to the source again,Beyond dark seas with shivering stars inwroughtBeyond war-burdened men in stricken pain.
I searched in rage and passionate despairDown winding paths of thought, and comradelessIn the full surge and tumult where he diedI turned; and saw my Brother standing there.His face was like a dawning happiness—I saw wounds in his hands, his feet, his side.
Gallipoli,October, 1915.
Nightheld me as I crawled and scrambled nearThe Turkish lines. Above, the mocking starsSilvered the curving parapet, and clearCloud-latticed beams o’erflecked the land with barsI, crouching, lay betweenTense-listening armies peering through the night,Twin giants bound by tentacles unseen.Here in dim-shadowed lightI saw him, as a sudden movement turnedHis eyes towards me, glowing eyes that burnedA moment ere his snuffling muzzle foundMy trail; and then as serpents mesmeriseHe chained me with those unrelenting eyes,That muscle-sliding rhythm, knit and boundIn spare-limbed symmetry, those perfect jawsAnd soft-approaching pitter-patter paws.Nearer and nearer like a wolf he crept—That moment had my swift revolver leapt—But terror seized me, terror born of shameBrought flooding revelation. For he cameAs one who offers comradeship deserved,An open ally of the human race,And sniffing at my prostrate form unnervedHe licked my face!
Nightheld me as I crawled and scrambled nearThe Turkish lines. Above, the mocking starsSilvered the curving parapet, and clearCloud-latticed beams o’erflecked the land with barsI, crouching, lay betweenTense-listening armies peering through the night,Twin giants bound by tentacles unseen.Here in dim-shadowed lightI saw him, as a sudden movement turnedHis eyes towards me, glowing eyes that burnedA moment ere his snuffling muzzle foundMy trail; and then as serpents mesmeriseHe chained me with those unrelenting eyes,That muscle-sliding rhythm, knit and boundIn spare-limbed symmetry, those perfect jawsAnd soft-approaching pitter-patter paws.Nearer and nearer like a wolf he crept—That moment had my swift revolver leapt—But terror seized me, terror born of shameBrought flooding revelation. For he cameAs one who offers comradeship deserved,An open ally of the human race,And sniffing at my prostrate form unnervedHe licked my face!
Nightheld me as I crawled and scrambled nearThe Turkish lines. Above, the mocking starsSilvered the curving parapet, and clearCloud-latticed beams o’erflecked the land with barsI, crouching, lay betweenTense-listening armies peering through the night,Twin giants bound by tentacles unseen.Here in dim-shadowed lightI saw him, as a sudden movement turnedHis eyes towards me, glowing eyes that burnedA moment ere his snuffling muzzle foundMy trail; and then as serpents mesmeriseHe chained me with those unrelenting eyes,That muscle-sliding rhythm, knit and boundIn spare-limbed symmetry, those perfect jawsAnd soft-approaching pitter-patter paws.Nearer and nearer like a wolf he crept—That moment had my swift revolver leapt—But terror seized me, terror born of shameBrought flooding revelation. For he cameAs one who offers comradeship deserved,An open ally of the human race,And sniffing at my prostrate form unnervedHe licked my face!
Hestood enveloped in the darkening mistHigh on the cape that proudly kept her trystAbove the narrow portal. All the dayWhite shell-flung water-spouts had scattered sprayRound Helles, warden of the Eastern seas;And still the boom of Asian batteriesRumbled around the cape. The sentinelSpied from his high cliff-towered citadelThe leaping flash of guns; but ere the roarSprang from its den on the dim Asian shore,He blew a trumpet. Then, like burrowing moles,Dim forms below dashed headlong to their holes,The while that hurtling iron crossed the sea,And fifteen seconds seemed eternity.Below we layCrushed in a lighter; and the towering sprayThat lately blurred the clear star-laden seaSubsided in the vast tranquillity.Now, chafing like taut-muscled charioteersWith every sense on tiptoe, we strained earsFor whispers, or the catch of indrawn breath.Still not the word to cut adrift the ropeThat moored us to a wharf of floating piers:And thus alternately in fear and hopeSwung the grim pendulum of life and death.Then suddenly the soundOf that loud warning rang the cape around.We knew a gun had flashed, we knew the roarThat instant rumbled from the Asian shore;And we lie fettered to a raft!... The shellClimbs its high trajectory ... Well,What of it? Fifteen seconds less or moreOne—two—three—four—five—six—seven(Steady, man,It’s only Asiatic Ann) ...How slow the moments trickle—eight—nine—ten(They’re wonderful, these men).Am I a coward? I can count no more;Hold Thou my hands, O God.The sea, upheaved in anger, rocked and swirled;Niagara seemed pelting from the starsIn tumult that epitomised a worldRoused by the battling impotence of wars.We heard a whispered order to escape,And casting loose, incredulously free,Unscathed, exulting in the amber lightWe left behind the immemorial cape.But still above the indomitable seaFrom his high cliff a sentry watched the night
Hestood enveloped in the darkening mistHigh on the cape that proudly kept her trystAbove the narrow portal. All the dayWhite shell-flung water-spouts had scattered sprayRound Helles, warden of the Eastern seas;And still the boom of Asian batteriesRumbled around the cape. The sentinelSpied from his high cliff-towered citadelThe leaping flash of guns; but ere the roarSprang from its den on the dim Asian shore,He blew a trumpet. Then, like burrowing moles,Dim forms below dashed headlong to their holes,The while that hurtling iron crossed the sea,And fifteen seconds seemed eternity.Below we layCrushed in a lighter; and the towering sprayThat lately blurred the clear star-laden seaSubsided in the vast tranquillity.Now, chafing like taut-muscled charioteersWith every sense on tiptoe, we strained earsFor whispers, or the catch of indrawn breath.Still not the word to cut adrift the ropeThat moored us to a wharf of floating piers:And thus alternately in fear and hopeSwung the grim pendulum of life and death.Then suddenly the soundOf that loud warning rang the cape around.We knew a gun had flashed, we knew the roarThat instant rumbled from the Asian shore;And we lie fettered to a raft!... The shellClimbs its high trajectory ... Well,What of it? Fifteen seconds less or moreOne—two—three—four—five—six—seven(Steady, man,It’s only Asiatic Ann) ...How slow the moments trickle—eight—nine—ten(They’re wonderful, these men).Am I a coward? I can count no more;Hold Thou my hands, O God.The sea, upheaved in anger, rocked and swirled;Niagara seemed pelting from the starsIn tumult that epitomised a worldRoused by the battling impotence of wars.We heard a whispered order to escape,And casting loose, incredulously free,Unscathed, exulting in the amber lightWe left behind the immemorial cape.But still above the indomitable seaFrom his high cliff a sentry watched the night
Hestood enveloped in the darkening mistHigh on the cape that proudly kept her trystAbove the narrow portal. All the dayWhite shell-flung water-spouts had scattered sprayRound Helles, warden of the Eastern seas;And still the boom of Asian batteriesRumbled around the cape. The sentinelSpied from his high cliff-towered citadelThe leaping flash of guns; but ere the roarSprang from its den on the dim Asian shore,He blew a trumpet. Then, like burrowing moles,Dim forms below dashed headlong to their holes,The while that hurtling iron crossed the sea,And fifteen seconds seemed eternity.Below we layCrushed in a lighter; and the towering sprayThat lately blurred the clear star-laden seaSubsided in the vast tranquillity.Now, chafing like taut-muscled charioteersWith every sense on tiptoe, we strained earsFor whispers, or the catch of indrawn breath.Still not the word to cut adrift the ropeThat moored us to a wharf of floating piers:And thus alternately in fear and hopeSwung the grim pendulum of life and death.
Then suddenly the soundOf that loud warning rang the cape around.We knew a gun had flashed, we knew the roarThat instant rumbled from the Asian shore;And we lie fettered to a raft!... The shellClimbs its high trajectory ... Well,What of it? Fifteen seconds less or moreOne—two—three—four—five—six—seven(Steady, man,It’s only Asiatic Ann) ...How slow the moments trickle—eight—nine—ten(They’re wonderful, these men).Am I a coward? I can count no more;Hold Thou my hands, O God.
The sea, upheaved in anger, rocked and swirled;Niagara seemed pelting from the starsIn tumult that epitomised a worldRoused by the battling impotence of wars.We heard a whispered order to escape,And casting loose, incredulously free,Unscathed, exulting in the amber lightWe left behind the immemorial cape.
But still above the indomitable seaFrom his high cliff a sentry watched the night
I laughedto see the gulls that dipped to clingTo the torn edge of surf and blowing spray,Where some gaunt battleship, a rolling king,Still dreams of phantom battles in the bay.I saw a cloud, a full-blown cotton flowerDrift vaguely like a wandering butterfly,I laughed to think it bore no pregnant showerOf blinding shrapnel scattered from the sky.Life bore new hope. An army’s great releaseFrom a closed cage walled in by fire and sea,From the hushed pause and swooping plunge of shells,Sped in a night. Here children in strange peace,Seek solitude to dull the tragedy,And needless horror of the Dardanelles.Mudros,January, 1916.
I laughedto see the gulls that dipped to clingTo the torn edge of surf and blowing spray,Where some gaunt battleship, a rolling king,Still dreams of phantom battles in the bay.I saw a cloud, a full-blown cotton flowerDrift vaguely like a wandering butterfly,I laughed to think it bore no pregnant showerOf blinding shrapnel scattered from the sky.Life bore new hope. An army’s great releaseFrom a closed cage walled in by fire and sea,From the hushed pause and swooping plunge of shells,Sped in a night. Here children in strange peace,Seek solitude to dull the tragedy,And needless horror of the Dardanelles.Mudros,January, 1916.
I laughedto see the gulls that dipped to clingTo the torn edge of surf and blowing spray,Where some gaunt battleship, a rolling king,Still dreams of phantom battles in the bay.I saw a cloud, a full-blown cotton flowerDrift vaguely like a wandering butterfly,I laughed to think it bore no pregnant showerOf blinding shrapnel scattered from the sky.Life bore new hope. An army’s great releaseFrom a closed cage walled in by fire and sea,From the hushed pause and swooping plunge of shells,Sped in a night. Here children in strange peace,Seek solitude to dull the tragedy,And needless horror of the Dardanelles.
Mudros,January, 1916.
Dead, dead, and dumbly chill. He seemed to lieCarved from the earth, in beauty without stainAnd suddenlyDay turned to night, and I beheld againA still Centurion with eyes ablaze:And Calvary re-echoed with his cry—His cry of stark amaze.
Dead, dead, and dumbly chill. He seemed to lieCarved from the earth, in beauty without stainAnd suddenlyDay turned to night, and I beheld againA still Centurion with eyes ablaze:And Calvary re-echoed with his cry—His cry of stark amaze.
Dead, dead, and dumbly chill. He seemed to lieCarved from the earth, in beauty without stainAnd suddenlyDay turned to night, and I beheld againA still Centurion with eyes ablaze:And Calvary re-echoed with his cry—His cry of stark amaze.
Theytold me nothing more: I bow my headAnd squander life, between the quick and deadIrresolute. Yet I again could beMistress of life, Queen of my destiny,If I but knew—But now Remembrance playsMy being back through spring and summer daysWe passed together; and I see him stillSwinging to meet me down the tardy hill.That day the birds were new-inspired; a breezeBestirred, as it in wonderment, the trees;The very clouds paused in their breathless race,And shadows played upon his open face;And I remember how his laughing eyesShone deep as pools in sea-blue ecstasies.The meadow grasses rustled in the heat;I even heard the silence of his feetDown the slow hill—And now the dawning birthOf beauty woke my senses to the earthUnveiled in radiance. The sweeping skies—Unseen unless reflected in his eyes—Marshalled cloud companies with new delight;Just for us two the spangled dome of nightSwung out the journeying moon.But still I holdBurnt in my memory in beaten goldDays when the Spring stirred in each waking bushA blue-flecked jay or tawny-feathered thrush,And drowsy Winter, startled unawaresBy arc-winged partridges or listening hares,Fled guiltily. We heard the magpies call—Those dominoes at Nature’s carnival—And once a kingfisher, a lovely gleamSnatched from a rainbow, darted to a stream.The snowdrops bowed their heads for us to seeShy peeping buds of hooded chastity;And stalwart cowslips raised sun-glinted eyesTo those who stooped to pluck their sanctities.Grass-nestled crocuses that scorn the windSpeared upward proudly and besought mankindTo step with care. Near by, we searched a gladeWhere violets brood in sweetness, half afraidTo wake their petals. On we roamed, and soonThe flower that shares her secret with the moonIn pale gold fellowship peeped out, amongA host of truculent daffodils that flungTheir trumpets down the wind.Each breathless dayBroke to fulfil its promise, till the MayHad fledged her clustered blooms and swung her prideIn bowing sweetness to the country side.Beauty was born again. But now the soundOf heavy Autumn patters to the ground,And loud discordant booms of thunder rollWhere that enchanted owner of my soulLies dead, or dying, or is living still:At last the fibres of my struggling willFalter exhausted, and my cowering brainCries out in anguish like a child in pain.If he is dead, then I abide to proveThat brief fulfilment may be perfect love.How should I grieve? His life inspired in meA joy that shall outlive eternity,Wrought out, complete, unsnared by time and ageMy jewelled past my priceless heritage.Shall misery usurp my realm of yearsAnd leave me drowning in self-pitying tears,A derelict in my own whirlpool swirled—Me—whom Love crowned an empress of the world?But sometimes ’ere the lightGlimmers dawn-pearled to splash the feet of night,Ere red, sun-gilded riot floods the sky,A whisper, swelling to a ringing cry,Tells me he’s living still. No lash could stingLike this persistent voice re-echoingThat mocks me as I stumble to my feet.O, shall I find him wandering in the street?But every beckoning corner drags me pastStrangers, new faces, each one like the lastDull, cold, inscrutable. At times I caughtThe look—the walk—the gesture that I sought;And once with throbbing veins I found those eyesThat shone like pools in sea-blue ecstasies,But looked beyond me—cold expressionlessIn vacant wonder at my helplessness,Then, haunted by that stare,Beaten, I knew the bedrock of despair.O, Thou who poised the world, are all my tearsToo light, too pitiful to reach Thine ears?Locksmith of happiness, aloof, apart,Am I too impotent to touch Thine heart?Tell me he’s dead or dying; say he standsSeeking for guidance the warm touch of hands,Doomed in an instant to eternal night,With only mind and memory for sight—For I could cheer him.But Lord quench this drought,The unfathomable immensity of doubt,Tell me he’s maimed or crippled, torn or blind,Staring through eyes that show his wandering mind—Tell me he’s rotting in a place abhorred,—Not this, not this, O Lord!
Theytold me nothing more: I bow my headAnd squander life, between the quick and deadIrresolute. Yet I again could beMistress of life, Queen of my destiny,If I but knew—But now Remembrance playsMy being back through spring and summer daysWe passed together; and I see him stillSwinging to meet me down the tardy hill.That day the birds were new-inspired; a breezeBestirred, as it in wonderment, the trees;The very clouds paused in their breathless race,And shadows played upon his open face;And I remember how his laughing eyesShone deep as pools in sea-blue ecstasies.The meadow grasses rustled in the heat;I even heard the silence of his feetDown the slow hill—And now the dawning birthOf beauty woke my senses to the earthUnveiled in radiance. The sweeping skies—Unseen unless reflected in his eyes—Marshalled cloud companies with new delight;Just for us two the spangled dome of nightSwung out the journeying moon.But still I holdBurnt in my memory in beaten goldDays when the Spring stirred in each waking bushA blue-flecked jay or tawny-feathered thrush,And drowsy Winter, startled unawaresBy arc-winged partridges or listening hares,Fled guiltily. We heard the magpies call—Those dominoes at Nature’s carnival—And once a kingfisher, a lovely gleamSnatched from a rainbow, darted to a stream.The snowdrops bowed their heads for us to seeShy peeping buds of hooded chastity;And stalwart cowslips raised sun-glinted eyesTo those who stooped to pluck their sanctities.Grass-nestled crocuses that scorn the windSpeared upward proudly and besought mankindTo step with care. Near by, we searched a gladeWhere violets brood in sweetness, half afraidTo wake their petals. On we roamed, and soonThe flower that shares her secret with the moonIn pale gold fellowship peeped out, amongA host of truculent daffodils that flungTheir trumpets down the wind.Each breathless dayBroke to fulfil its promise, till the MayHad fledged her clustered blooms and swung her prideIn bowing sweetness to the country side.Beauty was born again. But now the soundOf heavy Autumn patters to the ground,And loud discordant booms of thunder rollWhere that enchanted owner of my soulLies dead, or dying, or is living still:At last the fibres of my struggling willFalter exhausted, and my cowering brainCries out in anguish like a child in pain.If he is dead, then I abide to proveThat brief fulfilment may be perfect love.How should I grieve? His life inspired in meA joy that shall outlive eternity,Wrought out, complete, unsnared by time and ageMy jewelled past my priceless heritage.Shall misery usurp my realm of yearsAnd leave me drowning in self-pitying tears,A derelict in my own whirlpool swirled—Me—whom Love crowned an empress of the world?But sometimes ’ere the lightGlimmers dawn-pearled to splash the feet of night,Ere red, sun-gilded riot floods the sky,A whisper, swelling to a ringing cry,Tells me he’s living still. No lash could stingLike this persistent voice re-echoingThat mocks me as I stumble to my feet.O, shall I find him wandering in the street?But every beckoning corner drags me pastStrangers, new faces, each one like the lastDull, cold, inscrutable. At times I caughtThe look—the walk—the gesture that I sought;And once with throbbing veins I found those eyesThat shone like pools in sea-blue ecstasies,But looked beyond me—cold expressionlessIn vacant wonder at my helplessness,Then, haunted by that stare,Beaten, I knew the bedrock of despair.O, Thou who poised the world, are all my tearsToo light, too pitiful to reach Thine ears?Locksmith of happiness, aloof, apart,Am I too impotent to touch Thine heart?Tell me he’s dead or dying; say he standsSeeking for guidance the warm touch of hands,Doomed in an instant to eternal night,With only mind and memory for sight—For I could cheer him.But Lord quench this drought,The unfathomable immensity of doubt,Tell me he’s maimed or crippled, torn or blind,Staring through eyes that show his wandering mind—Tell me he’s rotting in a place abhorred,—Not this, not this, O Lord!
Theytold me nothing more: I bow my headAnd squander life, between the quick and deadIrresolute. Yet I again could beMistress of life, Queen of my destiny,If I but knew—But now Remembrance playsMy being back through spring and summer daysWe passed together; and I see him stillSwinging to meet me down the tardy hill.That day the birds were new-inspired; a breezeBestirred, as it in wonderment, the trees;The very clouds paused in their breathless race,And shadows played upon his open face;And I remember how his laughing eyesShone deep as pools in sea-blue ecstasies.The meadow grasses rustled in the heat;I even heard the silence of his feetDown the slow hill—And now the dawning birthOf beauty woke my senses to the earthUnveiled in radiance. The sweeping skies—Unseen unless reflected in his eyes—Marshalled cloud companies with new delight;Just for us two the spangled dome of nightSwung out the journeying moon.But still I holdBurnt in my memory in beaten goldDays when the Spring stirred in each waking bushA blue-flecked jay or tawny-feathered thrush,And drowsy Winter, startled unawaresBy arc-winged partridges or listening hares,Fled guiltily. We heard the magpies call—Those dominoes at Nature’s carnival—And once a kingfisher, a lovely gleamSnatched from a rainbow, darted to a stream.The snowdrops bowed their heads for us to seeShy peeping buds of hooded chastity;And stalwart cowslips raised sun-glinted eyesTo those who stooped to pluck their sanctities.Grass-nestled crocuses that scorn the windSpeared upward proudly and besought mankindTo step with care. Near by, we searched a gladeWhere violets brood in sweetness, half afraidTo wake their petals. On we roamed, and soonThe flower that shares her secret with the moonIn pale gold fellowship peeped out, amongA host of truculent daffodils that flungTheir trumpets down the wind.Each breathless dayBroke to fulfil its promise, till the MayHad fledged her clustered blooms and swung her prideIn bowing sweetness to the country side.Beauty was born again. But now the soundOf heavy Autumn patters to the ground,And loud discordant booms of thunder rollWhere that enchanted owner of my soulLies dead, or dying, or is living still:At last the fibres of my struggling willFalter exhausted, and my cowering brainCries out in anguish like a child in pain.
If he is dead, then I abide to proveThat brief fulfilment may be perfect love.How should I grieve? His life inspired in meA joy that shall outlive eternity,Wrought out, complete, unsnared by time and ageMy jewelled past my priceless heritage.Shall misery usurp my realm of yearsAnd leave me drowning in self-pitying tears,A derelict in my own whirlpool swirled—Me—whom Love crowned an empress of the world?But sometimes ’ere the lightGlimmers dawn-pearled to splash the feet of night,Ere red, sun-gilded riot floods the sky,A whisper, swelling to a ringing cry,Tells me he’s living still. No lash could stingLike this persistent voice re-echoingThat mocks me as I stumble to my feet.O, shall I find him wandering in the street?But every beckoning corner drags me pastStrangers, new faces, each one like the lastDull, cold, inscrutable. At times I caughtThe look—the walk—the gesture that I sought;And once with throbbing veins I found those eyesThat shone like pools in sea-blue ecstasies,But looked beyond me—cold expressionlessIn vacant wonder at my helplessness,Then, haunted by that stare,Beaten, I knew the bedrock of despair.O, Thou who poised the world, are all my tearsToo light, too pitiful to reach Thine ears?Locksmith of happiness, aloof, apart,Am I too impotent to touch Thine heart?Tell me he’s dead or dying; say he standsSeeking for guidance the warm touch of hands,Doomed in an instant to eternal night,With only mind and memory for sight—For I could cheer him.But Lord quench this drought,The unfathomable immensity of doubt,Tell me he’s maimed or crippled, torn or blind,Staring through eyes that show his wandering mind—Tell me he’s rotting in a place abhorred,—Not this, not this, O Lord!
Pealafter peal of splitting thunder rolls(Still roar the howling guns, and star-shells rise)We perish, drowned in anger-blasted holes,Give ear, O Lord! Our very manhood cries,Shell-fodder yea—but spare our human soulsFrom fury-shaken skies!
Pealafter peal of splitting thunder rolls(Still roar the howling guns, and star-shells rise)We perish, drowned in anger-blasted holes,Give ear, O Lord! Our very manhood cries,Shell-fodder yea—but spare our human soulsFrom fury-shaken skies!
Pealafter peal of splitting thunder rolls(Still roar the howling guns, and star-shells rise)We perish, drowned in anger-blasted holes,Give ear, O Lord! Our very manhood cries,Shell-fodder yea—but spare our human soulsFrom fury-shaken skies!
Fivemillion men are dead. How can the worthOf all the world redeem such waste as this?And yet the spring is clamorous of birth,And whispering in winter’s chrysalisGlad tidings to each clod, each particle of earth.So the year’s Easter triumphs. Shall we thenMourn for the dead unduly, and forgetThe resurrection in the hearts of men?Even the poppy on the parapetShall blossom as before when Summer blows again.
Fivemillion men are dead. How can the worthOf all the world redeem such waste as this?And yet the spring is clamorous of birth,And whispering in winter’s chrysalisGlad tidings to each clod, each particle of earth.So the year’s Easter triumphs. Shall we thenMourn for the dead unduly, and forgetThe resurrection in the hearts of men?Even the poppy on the parapetShall blossom as before when Summer blows again.
Fivemillion men are dead. How can the worthOf all the world redeem such waste as this?And yet the spring is clamorous of birth,And whispering in winter’s chrysalisGlad tidings to each clod, each particle of earth.So the year’s Easter triumphs. Shall we thenMourn for the dead unduly, and forgetThe resurrection in the hearts of men?Even the poppy on the parapetShall blossom as before when Summer blows again.
Thewind, which heralded the blackening night,Swirled in grey mists the sulphur-laden smoke.From sleep, in sparkling instancy of light,Crouched batteries like grumbling tigers wokeAnd stretched their iron symmetry; they hurledSkyward with roar and boom each pregnant shellRumbling on tracks unseen. Such tyrants reignThe sullen masters of a mangled world,Grim-mothered in a womb of furnaced hell,Wrought, forged, and hammered for the work of pain.For six long days the common slayers played,Till, fitfully, there boomed a heavier king,Who, couched in leaves and branches deftly laid,And hid in dappled colour of the spring,Vaunted tornadoes. Far from that covered lair,Like hidden snares the sinuous trenches layMid fields where nodding poppies show their pride.The tall star-pointed streamers leap and flare,And turn the night’s immensity to day;Or rockets whistle in their upward ride.
Thewind, which heralded the blackening night,Swirled in grey mists the sulphur-laden smoke.From sleep, in sparkling instancy of light,Crouched batteries like grumbling tigers wokeAnd stretched their iron symmetry; they hurledSkyward with roar and boom each pregnant shellRumbling on tracks unseen. Such tyrants reignThe sullen masters of a mangled world,Grim-mothered in a womb of furnaced hell,Wrought, forged, and hammered for the work of pain.For six long days the common slayers played,Till, fitfully, there boomed a heavier king,Who, couched in leaves and branches deftly laid,And hid in dappled colour of the spring,Vaunted tornadoes. Far from that covered lair,Like hidden snares the sinuous trenches layMid fields where nodding poppies show their pride.The tall star-pointed streamers leap and flare,And turn the night’s immensity to day;Or rockets whistle in their upward ride.
Thewind, which heralded the blackening night,Swirled in grey mists the sulphur-laden smoke.From sleep, in sparkling instancy of light,Crouched batteries like grumbling tigers wokeAnd stretched their iron symmetry; they hurledSkyward with roar and boom each pregnant shellRumbling on tracks unseen. Such tyrants reignThe sullen masters of a mangled world,Grim-mothered in a womb of furnaced hell,Wrought, forged, and hammered for the work of pain.
For six long days the common slayers played,Till, fitfully, there boomed a heavier king,Who, couched in leaves and branches deftly laid,And hid in dappled colour of the spring,Vaunted tornadoes. Far from that covered lair,Like hidden snares the sinuous trenches layMid fields where nodding poppies show their pride.The tall star-pointed streamers leap and flare,And turn the night’s immensity to day;Or rockets whistle in their upward ride.
Themoment comes when thrice-embittered fireProclaims the prelude to the great attack.In ruined heaps, torn saps and tangled wireAnd battered parapets loom gaunt and black:The flashes fade, the steady rattle dies,A breathless hush brings forth a troubled day,And men of sinew, knit to charge and stand,Rise up. But he of words and blinded eyesApplauds the puppets of his ghastly play,With easy rhetoric and ready hand.Unlike those men who waited for the word,Clean soldiers from a country of the sea;These were no thong-lashed band or goaded herdTricked by the easy speech of tyranny.All the long week they fought encircling Fate,While chaos clutched the throat and shuddered pastAs phantoms haunt a child, and softly creepRound cots, so Death stood sentry at the GateAnd beckoned waiting terror, till at lastHe vanished at the hurrying touch of sleep.The beauty of the Earth seemed doubly sweetWith the stored sacraments the Summer yields—Grass-sunken kine, and softly-hissing wheat,Blue-misted flax, and drowsy poppy fields.But with the vanished day Remembrance cameVivid with dreams, and sweet with magic song,Soft haunting echoes of a distant seaAs from another world. A belt of flameHeld the swift past, and made each moment longWith the tense horror of mortality.That easy lordling of the UniverseWho plotted days that stain the path of time,For him was happy memory a curse,And Man a scapegoat for a royal crime.In lagging moments dearly sacrificedMen sweated blood before eternity:In cheerful agony, with jest and mirth,They shared the bitter solitude of ChristIn a new Garden of Gethsemane,Gethsemane walled in by crested earth.They won the greater battle, when each soulLay naked to the needless wreck of Mars;Yet, splendid in perfection, faced the goalBeyond the sweeping army of the stars.Necessity foretold that they must dieMangled and helpless, crippled, maimed and blind,And cursed with all the sacrilege of war—To force a nation to retract a lie,To prove the unchartered honour of Mankind,To show how strong the silent passions are.
Themoment comes when thrice-embittered fireProclaims the prelude to the great attack.In ruined heaps, torn saps and tangled wireAnd battered parapets loom gaunt and black:The flashes fade, the steady rattle dies,A breathless hush brings forth a troubled day,And men of sinew, knit to charge and stand,Rise up. But he of words and blinded eyesApplauds the puppets of his ghastly play,With easy rhetoric and ready hand.Unlike those men who waited for the word,Clean soldiers from a country of the sea;These were no thong-lashed band or goaded herdTricked by the easy speech of tyranny.All the long week they fought encircling Fate,While chaos clutched the throat and shuddered pastAs phantoms haunt a child, and softly creepRound cots, so Death stood sentry at the GateAnd beckoned waiting terror, till at lastHe vanished at the hurrying touch of sleep.The beauty of the Earth seemed doubly sweetWith the stored sacraments the Summer yields—Grass-sunken kine, and softly-hissing wheat,Blue-misted flax, and drowsy poppy fields.But with the vanished day Remembrance cameVivid with dreams, and sweet with magic song,Soft haunting echoes of a distant seaAs from another world. A belt of flameHeld the swift past, and made each moment longWith the tense horror of mortality.That easy lordling of the UniverseWho plotted days that stain the path of time,For him was happy memory a curse,And Man a scapegoat for a royal crime.In lagging moments dearly sacrificedMen sweated blood before eternity:In cheerful agony, with jest and mirth,They shared the bitter solitude of ChristIn a new Garden of Gethsemane,Gethsemane walled in by crested earth.They won the greater battle, when each soulLay naked to the needless wreck of Mars;Yet, splendid in perfection, faced the goalBeyond the sweeping army of the stars.Necessity foretold that they must dieMangled and helpless, crippled, maimed and blind,And cursed with all the sacrilege of war—To force a nation to retract a lie,To prove the unchartered honour of Mankind,To show how strong the silent passions are.
Themoment comes when thrice-embittered fireProclaims the prelude to the great attack.In ruined heaps, torn saps and tangled wireAnd battered parapets loom gaunt and black:The flashes fade, the steady rattle dies,A breathless hush brings forth a troubled day,And men of sinew, knit to charge and stand,Rise up. But he of words and blinded eyesApplauds the puppets of his ghastly play,With easy rhetoric and ready hand.
Unlike those men who waited for the word,Clean soldiers from a country of the sea;These were no thong-lashed band or goaded herdTricked by the easy speech of tyranny.All the long week they fought encircling Fate,While chaos clutched the throat and shuddered pastAs phantoms haunt a child, and softly creepRound cots, so Death stood sentry at the GateAnd beckoned waiting terror, till at lastHe vanished at the hurrying touch of sleep.
The beauty of the Earth seemed doubly sweetWith the stored sacraments the Summer yields—Grass-sunken kine, and softly-hissing wheat,Blue-misted flax, and drowsy poppy fields.But with the vanished day Remembrance cameVivid with dreams, and sweet with magic song,Soft haunting echoes of a distant seaAs from another world. A belt of flameHeld the swift past, and made each moment longWith the tense horror of mortality.
That easy lordling of the UniverseWho plotted days that stain the path of time,For him was happy memory a curse,And Man a scapegoat for a royal crime.In lagging moments dearly sacrificedMen sweated blood before eternity:In cheerful agony, with jest and mirth,They shared the bitter solitude of ChristIn a new Garden of Gethsemane,Gethsemane walled in by crested earth.
They won the greater battle, when each soulLay naked to the needless wreck of Mars;Yet, splendid in perfection, faced the goalBeyond the sweeping army of the stars.Necessity foretold that they must dieMangled and helpless, crippled, maimed and blind,And cursed with all the sacrilege of war—To force a nation to retract a lie,To prove the unchartered honour of Mankind,To show how strong the silent passions are.
Thedaylight broke and brought the awaited cheer,And suddenly the land is live with men.In steady waves the infantry surge near;The fire, a sweeping curtain, lifts again.A battle-plane with humming engines swerves,Gleams like a whirring dragon-fly, and dips,Plunging cloud-shadowed in a breathless fallTo climb undaunted in far-reaching curves.And, swaying in the clouds like anchored ships,Swing grim balloons with eyes that fathom all.But as the broad-winged battle-planes outsoaredThe shell-rocked skies, blue fields of cotton flowers,When bombs like bolts of thunder leapt and roared,And mighty moments faded into hours,The curtain fire redoubled yet again:The grey defence reversed their swift defeatAnd rallied strongly; whilst the attacking waves,Snared in a trench and severed from the main,Were driven fighting in a forced retreatAcross the land that gaped with shell-turned graves.
Thedaylight broke and brought the awaited cheer,And suddenly the land is live with men.In steady waves the infantry surge near;The fire, a sweeping curtain, lifts again.A battle-plane with humming engines swerves,Gleams like a whirring dragon-fly, and dips,Plunging cloud-shadowed in a breathless fallTo climb undaunted in far-reaching curves.And, swaying in the clouds like anchored ships,Swing grim balloons with eyes that fathom all.But as the broad-winged battle-planes outsoaredThe shell-rocked skies, blue fields of cotton flowers,When bombs like bolts of thunder leapt and roared,And mighty moments faded into hours,The curtain fire redoubled yet again:The grey defence reversed their swift defeatAnd rallied strongly; whilst the attacking waves,Snared in a trench and severed from the main,Were driven fighting in a forced retreatAcross the land that gaped with shell-turned graves.
Thedaylight broke and brought the awaited cheer,And suddenly the land is live with men.In steady waves the infantry surge near;The fire, a sweeping curtain, lifts again.A battle-plane with humming engines swerves,Gleams like a whirring dragon-fly, and dips,Plunging cloud-shadowed in a breathless fallTo climb undaunted in far-reaching curves.And, swaying in the clouds like anchored ships,Swing grim balloons with eyes that fathom all.
But as the broad-winged battle-planes outsoaredThe shell-rocked skies, blue fields of cotton flowers,When bombs like bolts of thunder leapt and roared,And mighty moments faded into hours,The curtain fire redoubled yet again:The grey defence reversed their swift defeatAnd rallied strongly; whilst the attacking waves,Snared in a trench and severed from the main,Were driven fighting in a forced retreatAcross the land that gaped with shell-turned graves.
Thetroubled day sped on in wearinessTill Night drugged Carnage in a drunken swoon.Jet-black, with spangling stars athwart her dressAnd pale in the shafted amber of the moon,She moved triumphant as a young-eyed queenIn silent dignity: her shadowed faceScarce veiled by gossamer clouds, that scurrying ranBreathless in speed the high star-lanes between.She passed unheeding ’neath the dome of space,And scorned the petty tragedy of Man.And one looked upward, and in wonder sawThe vast star-soldiered army of the sky.Unheard, the needless blasphemy of WarShrank at that primal splendour sweeping by.The moon’s gold-shadowed craters bathed the ground—(Pale queen, she hunted in her pathless riseLithe blackened raiders that bomb-laden creep)But now the earth-walled comfort wrapped him round,And soon in lulled forgetfulness he liesWhere soldiers clasping arms like children sleep.Sleep held him as a mother holds her child:Sleep the soft calm that levels hopes and fears,Now stilled his brain and scarfed his eyelids wild,And sped the transient misery of tears,Until the dawn’s sure prophets cleft the nightWith opal shafts, and streamers tinged with flame,Swift merging riot of the turbaned East.Through rustling gesture loomed the advancing light;Through fitful eddying winds, grey vanguards cameRising in billowy mountains silver-fleeced.And with the dawn came action, and againThe spiteful interplay of static war:Dogged, with grim persistence Blood and PainRose venomous to greet the Morning Star.But others watched that lonely sentinelChase fleeting fellow-stars before the day;Fresh men heard tides of thunder ebb and flow.—Stumbling in sleep, scarce heeding shot or shell,The men who fought at Gommecourt filed away:The poppies nodded as they passed below.They left the barren wilderness behind,And Gommecourt gnarled and dauntless, till they cameTo fields where trees unshattered took the wind,Which tossed the crimson poppy heads to flame.But one stood musing at a waking thoughtThat spurred his blood and dimmed his searching eyes—The primal thought that stirs the seed to birth.Here where the battling nations clashed and foughtThe common grass still breathed of ParadiseAnd Love with silent lips was Lord of Earth.B. E. F. 1916.
Thetroubled day sped on in wearinessTill Night drugged Carnage in a drunken swoon.Jet-black, with spangling stars athwart her dressAnd pale in the shafted amber of the moon,She moved triumphant as a young-eyed queenIn silent dignity: her shadowed faceScarce veiled by gossamer clouds, that scurrying ranBreathless in speed the high star-lanes between.She passed unheeding ’neath the dome of space,And scorned the petty tragedy of Man.And one looked upward, and in wonder sawThe vast star-soldiered army of the sky.Unheard, the needless blasphemy of WarShrank at that primal splendour sweeping by.The moon’s gold-shadowed craters bathed the ground—(Pale queen, she hunted in her pathless riseLithe blackened raiders that bomb-laden creep)But now the earth-walled comfort wrapped him round,And soon in lulled forgetfulness he liesWhere soldiers clasping arms like children sleep.Sleep held him as a mother holds her child:Sleep the soft calm that levels hopes and fears,Now stilled his brain and scarfed his eyelids wild,And sped the transient misery of tears,Until the dawn’s sure prophets cleft the nightWith opal shafts, and streamers tinged with flame,Swift merging riot of the turbaned East.Through rustling gesture loomed the advancing light;Through fitful eddying winds, grey vanguards cameRising in billowy mountains silver-fleeced.And with the dawn came action, and againThe spiteful interplay of static war:Dogged, with grim persistence Blood and PainRose venomous to greet the Morning Star.But others watched that lonely sentinelChase fleeting fellow-stars before the day;Fresh men heard tides of thunder ebb and flow.—Stumbling in sleep, scarce heeding shot or shell,The men who fought at Gommecourt filed away:The poppies nodded as they passed below.They left the barren wilderness behind,And Gommecourt gnarled and dauntless, till they cameTo fields where trees unshattered took the wind,Which tossed the crimson poppy heads to flame.But one stood musing at a waking thoughtThat spurred his blood and dimmed his searching eyes—The primal thought that stirs the seed to birth.Here where the battling nations clashed and foughtThe common grass still breathed of ParadiseAnd Love with silent lips was Lord of Earth.B. E. F. 1916.
Thetroubled day sped on in wearinessTill Night drugged Carnage in a drunken swoon.Jet-black, with spangling stars athwart her dressAnd pale in the shafted amber of the moon,She moved triumphant as a young-eyed queenIn silent dignity: her shadowed faceScarce veiled by gossamer clouds, that scurrying ranBreathless in speed the high star-lanes between.She passed unheeding ’neath the dome of space,And scorned the petty tragedy of Man.
And one looked upward, and in wonder sawThe vast star-soldiered army of the sky.Unheard, the needless blasphemy of WarShrank at that primal splendour sweeping by.The moon’s gold-shadowed craters bathed the ground—(Pale queen, she hunted in her pathless riseLithe blackened raiders that bomb-laden creep)But now the earth-walled comfort wrapped him round,And soon in lulled forgetfulness he liesWhere soldiers clasping arms like children sleep.
Sleep held him as a mother holds her child:Sleep the soft calm that levels hopes and fears,Now stilled his brain and scarfed his eyelids wild,And sped the transient misery of tears,Until the dawn’s sure prophets cleft the nightWith opal shafts, and streamers tinged with flame,Swift merging riot of the turbaned East.Through rustling gesture loomed the advancing light;Through fitful eddying winds, grey vanguards cameRising in billowy mountains silver-fleeced.
And with the dawn came action, and againThe spiteful interplay of static war:Dogged, with grim persistence Blood and PainRose venomous to greet the Morning Star.But others watched that lonely sentinelChase fleeting fellow-stars before the day;Fresh men heard tides of thunder ebb and flow.—Stumbling in sleep, scarce heeding shot or shell,The men who fought at Gommecourt filed away:The poppies nodded as they passed below.
They left the barren wilderness behind,And Gommecourt gnarled and dauntless, till they cameTo fields where trees unshattered took the wind,Which tossed the crimson poppy heads to flame.But one stood musing at a waking thoughtThat spurred his blood and dimmed his searching eyes—The primal thought that stirs the seed to birth.Here where the battling nations clashed and foughtThe common grass still breathed of ParadiseAnd Love with silent lips was Lord of Earth.
B. E. F. 1916.