War's Embers, and Other Verses — Context and Discussion

O wind that tosses free The children’s hair; Scatters the blossom of Apple and pear; Blow in my heart, touch me, Gladden me here.

You have seen so many things-- Blow in and tell Tales of white sand and golden ’Gainst the sea swell. Bring me fine meadow-thoughts, Fresh orchard smell.

Here we must stare through glass To see the sun-- Stare at flat ceilings white Till day is done: While you, sunshine, starshine, May out and run.

Blow in and bring us all Dear home-delight-- Green face of the Spring earth, Blue of deep night. Blot each of our faces From the others’ sight.

Out of the line we rest in villages Quiet indeed, where heal the spirit’s scars; But even so, lapped deep in sunshine and ease, We are haunted for ever by the shapes of wars.

Green in the sun they lie, secret, deserted, Lovely against the blue the summits show, Where once the bright steel sang, the red blood spurted, And brave men cowed their terrors long ago.

By day their life was easy; but at night, Even now, one hears strange rustlings in the bush; And, straining tensely doubtful ear and sight, The stealthy moving ere the sudden rush;

And flinches from the spear. War’s just-bright embers That Earth still keeps and treasures for the pride In sacrifice there shown; with love remembers The beauty and quick strength of men that died.

Who died as we may die, for Freedom, beauty Of common living, calmly led in peace, Yet took the flinty road and hard of duty, Whose end was life abundant and increase.

But--when Heaven’s gate wide opening receives us Victors and full of song, forgetting scars; Shall we see to stir old memories, to grieve us, Heaven’s never-yet-healed sores of Michael’s wars?

The tossing poplar in the wind Shows underleaf of silver-white; The roughness of the wind unkind Torments her out of all delight. But O that he were here Whose blows and whose caresses alike were dear!

The great oak to the tearing blast Stands steady with strong arms held wide, So over him my anger passed, When his rough usage hurt my pride. But O that once again I might arouse that passion, endure that pain!

Sweet smelling, sweet to handle, fair of hue Tobacco is. The soldier everywhere Takes it as friend, its friendliness to share, Whether in fragrant wreaths it mount faint blue In dug-out low, or surreptitiously to Parapet in rimy night, from hidden lair Of sentry; staying hunger, stilling fear-- The old dreams of comfort bringing anew. For from that incense grows the stuff of dreams, And in those clouds a drowsing man may find All that was ever sweet to his starved mind, Heart long denied--dear friends, hills, horses, trees, Slopes of brown ploughland, sunset’s fading gleams ... The bane of care, the spur to memories.

DAY-BOYS AND CHORISTERS

(TO THE BOYS OF KING’S SCHOOL, GLOUCESTER, 1900-1905)

Under the shade of the great Tower Where pass the goodly and the wise, Year in, year out, winter and summer, With scufflings and excited cries, Football rages, not told in pages Of Fame whereof the wide world hears; A battle of divided Empire-- The day-boys and the choristers.

CHORUS So here’s to the room where the dark beams cross over, And here’s to the cupboard where hides the cane; The paddock and fives-court, great chestnut, tall tower-- When Fritz stops his fooling we’ll see them again.

Golf balls, tennis balls, cricket and footballs, Balls of all sizes and sorts were sent Soaring by wall and arch and ivy High, high over to banishment. (Poor owner that loses!) And oh! but the bruises, Scars, and red hacks to cover the brave Shins of the boldest, when up and down playground Victory surged, Victory, edged like a wave.

CHORUS So here’s to the room where the dark beams cross over, And here’s to the cupboard where hides the cane, The paddock and fives-court, great chestnut, tall tower-- When Fritz stops his fooling we’ll see them again.

Little they knew, those boys, how in Flanders And plains of France, in another day A trial dreadful of nerve and sinew For four long years should test alway That playtime pluck, that yet should carry Them through Hell’s during worst, and how Europe should honour them, a whole world praise them, Though Death tore their bodies and laid them low.

CHORUS So here’s to the room where the dark beams cross over, And here’s to the cupboard where hides the cane; The paddock and fives-court, great chestnut, tall tower-- When Fritz stops his fooling we’ll see them again.