<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="" class="head">Sonnet</h1><h1 align="" class="head">In Memory of R. W. Sterling</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">As if Apollo's self had swept the strings,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">From Isis' banks came one clear burst of song,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">So sad, so noble, beautiful and strong,</p><p class="line">Poised through its flight on such majestic wings,</p><p class="line">It might not seem a youth's imaginings,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">But to an Attic age might well belong,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Or be the flower of that Miltonian throng</p><p class="line">That for dead Lycidas sobs, and sobbing sings.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">O brave Boy-Poet, who, at Duty's call,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Laid down thy lyre, thy chaplet cast aside</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">To don the armour of a sterner day;</p><p class="line">Who scorned the lures that held thy heart in thrall:</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Sped down Parnassus with a warrior's pride</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">To meet thy death in dark Thermopylae!</p></div><p class="byline">Roger Quin.</p></body></html> · Great War