« AnkstesnisTęsti »
Thus, though no trophies deck his car Of captured guns or banners torn, Men hailed him as they hail a star That comes with morn:
A star of brotherhood, not scorn,
Sleep then, O Dead beloved! and sleep
Sleep then, our England's King, as one Who knows the lofty aim and pure, Beyond all din of battles won,
Must still endure.
TO HUGH THOMSON
(WITH A COPY OF SIR JOHN GILBERT'S
IN Fifty-six, when GILBERT drew
These brave conceptions, people knew Little that we to-day repeat
(Quoting the prophet in the street) Of Value, Tone, and Point of View!
Their tastes were plain; their wants were few;
And yet they prized their GILBERT too—
TO TIME, THE TYRANT
"Ave, Imperator, senectus te salutat."
TIME, in whose kingship is Song,
What shall I bring to thee now, Weary of heart and of browNow, that the shadows are long?
Not with the young and the strong
Yet-let me stand in the throng;
Youth, that no Combat can cow, Strength, that is stronger than Wrong, TIME!
FOR THE BLINDED SOLDIERS
E that look on, with God's goodwill, Have one plain duty to fulfil: To drive-by all fair means—afar This hideous Juggernaut of War, And teach the Future not to kill.
But there's a plainer duty still:
What timelier task for brain and quill
No sight of all good things that are,
FOR Right, not Might, you fought. The foe,
Checked in his wild World-overthrow, Ravaged, with his remorseless band, Your ancient fanes and peaceful land, Thinking to crush you at a blow.
You are not crushed, as well we know.
Nor can they fail at last who stand
God speed you, Belgium! Time will show
To you through all reverses grand-