The Great War

from The Volunteer and Other Poems, an electronic edition


HOODED in angry mist, the sun goes down:

Steel-gray the clouds roll out across the Sea:

Is this a Kingdom? Then give Death the crown,

For here no emperor hath won, save He.

Though from the blackened grasses of the spring

The dead look up to where the swallow flies:

And in this woodland never a bird will sing--

The laughter lives within the sentry's eyes.