I WANDER in the dawn to where t… I hear the songs of singing birds;… I hear the faint hum of flies; and… All things fill my soul with prais… I do not ask for dim cathedral pla…

I HAVE leaned on God And have been comforted by Him: My fears have been allayed ; My terror of Death has been forgo… My frightened heart

As one who was rebuked I stood In silence by the sea ; The stars were pale and faint—a br… Of angel eyes to me: The dim red flush of evening lay

JUNE! the joyous, sun-filled mon… When roses, emblems of a heaven, c… Strange melodies in garden and in… With blithesome birds that sing in… Of English lanes; and thousand ot…

It is not sweet to die for one’s c… I saw a dead man stinking in a tre… Where even flies would sicken with… Ah! is it sweet to die for one’s c… His face had rotted black as ebony…

Have you seen men come from the L… Tottering, doddering, as if bad wi… Had drugged their very souls; Their garments rent with holes And caked with mud

It lay on the hill, A sack on its face, Collarless, Stiff and still, Its two feet bare

On stark and tortured wire Where refuse of war lies Tangled in mire— When God is flinging Rain down the skies—

A DIGGER he digs in the dark In the naked remains of a wood, For his friend that lies stiff and… On his head hard blood for a hood: The digging is painful and slow,

A HISSING Stove whose pale blu… Boils peeled potatoes pillaged wit… The night before from captured vil… The Germans were, not long ago ;… A wooden table ; and in glimmering…

THE hour is drowsed with things o… That round my tottering senses cre… Like subtle wandering scents, so r… They might ensweeten fairies’ hair… And I am walking in a glade

You hide your grief, Mother, But in lonely twilight times You silently weep for another Who is dead. Alone, you mourn thus;

Lo! there she comes from afar Her eyes tender as moonlight Or the evening star On a purple night In Autumn! See!

I HEAR a rat scurrying At the end o’ the street Across the moon-lit stones, hurryi… To dingier retreat— A ruined house against the moon,

The moon—frozen eye— Stares down stupidly, And the wind licks A few bare sticks, Once trees: