Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/100

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For a little leaven leavens the whole!

Mostly we find, when we trouble to seek

The soul of a people, that some unique,

Brave man is its flower and symbol, who

Makes bold to utter the words that choke

The throats of feebler, timider folk.

You flew for the western eagle—and fell

Doing great things for your country's pride:

For the beauty and peace of life you died.

Britain and France have shrined in their souls

Your memory, yes, and for ever you share

Their love with their perished lords of the air.

Invisible now, in that empty seat,

You sit, who came through the clouds to me,

Swift as a message from over the sea.

My house is always open to you:

Dear Spirit, come often and you will find

Welcome, where mind can foregather with mind!

And may we sit together one day

Quietly here, when a word is said

To bring new gladness unto our dead,

Knowing your dream is a dream no more;

And seeing on some momentous pact

Your vision upbuilt as a deathless fact. Rowland Thirlmere