The Dark House
Dusk in the rain-soaked garden, And dark the house within. A door creaked: someone was early To watch the dawn begin. But he stole away like a thief In the chilly, star-bright air: Though
The Choral Union
He staggered in from night and frost and fog And lampless streets: he’d guzzled like a hog And drunk till he was dazed. And now he came To hear-he couldn’t call to mind the
Slumber-Song
Sleep; and my song shall build about your bed A paradise of dimness. You shall feel The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell Throned in your silence: and one hour shall hold
The Investiture
GOD with a Roll of Honour in His hand Sits welcoming the heroes who have died, While sorrowless angels ranked on either side Stand easy in Elysium’s meadow-land. Then you come shyly through the
Conscripts
‘Fall in, that awkward squad, and strike no more Attractive attitudes! Dress by the right! The luminous rich colours that you wore Have changed to hueless khaki in the night. Magic? What’s magic got
The Road
The road is thronged with women; soldiers pass And halt, but never see them; yet they’re here – A patient crowd along the sodden grass, Silent, worn out with waiting, sick with fear. The
Wisdom
When Wisdom tells me that the world’s a speck Lost on the shoreless blue of God’s To-Day… I smile, and think, ‘For every man his way: The world’s my ship, and I’m alone on
France
She triumphs, in the vivid green Where sun and quivering foliage meet; And in each soldier’s heart serene; When death stood near them they have seen The radiant forests where her feet Move on
Wonderment
Then a wind blew; And he who had forgot he moved Lonely amid the green and silver morning weather, Suddenly grew Aware of clouds and trees Gleaming and white and shafted, shaken together And
Base Details
If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath I’d live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death. You’d see me with my puffy petulant
October
Across the land a faint blue veil of mist Seems hung; the woods wear yet arrayment sober Till frost shall make them flame; silent and whist The drooping cherry orchards of October Like mournful
Invocation
Come down from heaven to meet me when my breath Chokes, and through drumming shafts of stifling death I stumble toward escape, to find the door Opening on morn where I may breathe once
The Imperfect Lover
I never asked you to be perfect-did I?- Though often I’ve called you sweet, in the invasion Of mastering love. I never prayed that you Might stand, unsoiled, angelic and inhuman, Pointing the way
Twelve Months After
Hullo! here’s my platoon, the lot I had last year. ‘The war’ll be over soon.’ ‘What ‘opes?’ ‘No bloody fear!’ Then, ‘Number Seven, ‘shun! All present and correct.’ They’re standing in the sun, impassive
Arms and the Man
Young Croesus went to pay his call On Colonel Sawbones, Caxton Hall: And, though his wound was healed and mended, He hoped he’d get his leave extended. The waiting-room was dark and bare. He