<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">The Death of Peace</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="subhead"><span class="smallcaps">Peace</span></p><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">Now</span> slowly sinks the day-long labouring Sun</p><p class="line">Behind the tranquil trees and old church-tower;</p><p class="line">And we who watch him know our day is done;</p><p class="line">For us too comes the evening -- and the hour.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The sunbeams slanting through those ancient trees,</p><p class="line">The sunlit lichens burning on the byre,</p><p class="line">The lark descending, and the homing bees,</p><p class="line">Proclaim the sweet relief all things desire.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Golden the river brims beneath the west,</p><p class="line">And holy peace to all the world is given;</p><p class="line">The songless stockdove preens her ruddied breast;</p><p class="line">The blue smoke windeth like a prayer to heaven.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">O old, old England, land of golden peace,</p><p class="line">Thy fields are spun with gossameres of gold,</p><p class="line">And golden garners gather thy increase,</p><p class="line">And plenty crowns thy loveliness untold.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">By sunlight or by starlight ever thou</p><p class="line">Art excellent in beauty manifold;</p><p class="line">The still star victory ever gems thy brow;</p><p class="line">Age canot age thee, ages make thee old.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Thy beauty brightens with the evening sun</p><p class="line">Across the long-lit meads and distant spire:</p><p class="line">So sleep thou well -- like his thy labour done;</p><p class="line">Rest in thy glory as he rests in fire.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">But even in this hour of soft repose</p><p class="line">A gentle sadness chides us like a friend</p><p class="line">The sorrow of the joy that overflows,</p><p class="line">The burden of the beauty that must end.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And from the fading sunset comes a cry,</p><p class="line">And in the twilight voices wailing past,</p><p class="line">Like wild-swans calling, "When we rest we die,</p><p class="line">And woe to them that linger and are last";</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And as the Sun sinks, sudden in heav'n new born</p><p class="line">There shines an armèd Angel like a Star,</p><p class="line">Who cries above the darkling world in scorn,</p><p class="line">"God comes to Judgment. Learn ye what ye are."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">From fire to umber fades the sunset-gold,</p><p class="line">From umber into silver and twilight;</p><p class="line">The infant flowers their orisons have told</p><p class="line">And turn together folded for the night;</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The garden urns are black against the eve;</p><p class="line">The white moth flitters through the fragrant glooms;</p><p class="line">How beautiful the heav'ns! -- But yet we grieve</p><p class="line">And wander restless from the lighted rooms.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">For through the world to-night a murmur thrills</p><p class="line">As at some new-born prodigy of time --</p><p class="line">Peace dies like twilight bleeding on the hills,</p><p class="line">And Darkness creeps to hide the hateful crime.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="subhead"><span class="smallcaps">The Death of Peace</span></p><p class="line">Art thou no more, O Maiden Heaven-born,</p><p class="line">O Peace, bright Angel of the windless morn?</p><p class="line">Who comest down to bless our furrow'd fields,</p><p class="line">Or stand like Beauty smiling 'mid the corn:</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Mistress of mirth and ease and summer dreams,</p><p class="line">Who lingerest among the woods and streams</p><p class="line">To help us heap the harvest 'neath the moon,</p><p class="line">And homeward laughing lead the lumb'ring teams:</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Who teachest to our children thy wise lore;</p><p class="line">Who keepest full the goodman's golden store;</p><p class="line">Who crownest Life with plenty, Death with flow'rs;</p><p class="line">Peace, Queen of Kindness -- but of earth, no more.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Not thine but ours the fault, thy care was vain;</p><p class="line">For this that we have done be ours the pain;</p><p class="line">Thou gavest much, as He who gave us all,</p><p class="line">And as we slew Him for it thou art slain.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Heav'n left to men the moulding of their fate:</p><p class="line">To live as wolves or pile the pillar'd State --</p><p class="line">Like boars and bears to grunt and growl in mire,</p><p class="line">Or dwell aloft, effulgent gods, elate.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Thou liftedst us: we slew and with thee fell --</p><p class="line">From golden thrones of wisdom weeping fell.</p><p class="line">Fate rends the chaplets from our feeble brows;</p><p class="line">The spires of Heaven fade in fogs of hell.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">She faints, she falls; her dying eyes are dim;</p><p class="line">Her fingers play with those bright buds she bore</p><p class="line">To please us, but that she can bring no more;</p><p class="line">And dying yet she smiles -- as Christ on him</p><p class="line">Who slew Him slain. Her eyes so beauteous</p><p class="line">Are lit with tears shed -- not for herself but us.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The gentle Beings of the hearth and home;</p><p class="line">The lovely Dryads of her aislèd woods;</p><p class="line">The Angels that do dwell in solitudes</p><p class="line">Where she dwelleth; and joyous Spirits that roam</p><p class="line">To bless her bleating flocks and fruitful lands;</p><p class="line">Are gather'd there to weep, and kiss her dying hands.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">"Look, look," they cry, "she is not dead, she breathes!</p><p class="line">And we have staunched the damnèd wound and deep,</p><p class="line">The cavern-carven wound. She doth but sleep</p><p class="line">And will awake. Bring wine, and new-wound wreaths</p><p class="line">Wherewith to crown awaking her dear head,</p><p class="line">And make her Queen again." -- But no, for Peace was dead.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And then there came black Lords; and Dwarfs obscene</p><p class="line">With lavish tongues; and Trolls; and treacherous Things</p><p class="line">Like loose-lipp'd Councillors and cruel Kings</p><p class="line">Who sharpen lies and daggers subterrene:</p><p class="line">And flashed their evil eyes and weeping cried,</p><p class="line">"We ruled the world for Peace. By her own hand she died."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">In secret he made sharp the bitter blade,</p><p class="line">And poison'd it with bane of lies and drew,</p><p class="line">And stabb'd -- O God! the Cruel Cripple slew;</p><p class="line">And cowards fled or lent him trembling aid.</p><p class="line">She fell and died -- in all the tale of time</p><p class="line">The direst deed e'er done, the most accursèd crime.</p></div><p class="byline">Ronald Ross</p></body></html> · Great War