A Treasury of War Poetry (2nd Series)/Old War

you sitting in the sungleams there, Scabbard on arm, the mighty blade withdrawn, Musing a little. Dreams of customs gone People your mood—old loves, old quests to dare; The sword so doubly tempered to its wont Of battle, keen to be swift smiting through Dark arms, you fondle almost as if you Had borne it shouting in the fight's red front.

All this upon a quiet afternoon Of golden sun in Canada. The years Are but a curtain that you brush aside. This hour you hear the ancient battle rune In gleaming glens, and to your sight appears Old war and all its honour and high pride. Arthur L. Phelps