Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/162

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The seer can warm his body through

By some far fire he sees;

The fool can naked dance in snow;

The singer—as he please!

And which I be of these, oho,

That is a guess for you!

Once in a thousand years, they say,

The walls are beaten down;

And then they find a singer dead;

But swift they set a crown

Upon his lowly, careless head,

And sing his song for aye!

So I to Luthany will flee,

While here the winter raves.

God send I go not as one blind

A-dancing upon graves!

God save a madman if I find

War's heel on Luthany! Olive Tilford Dargan

HERE'S mist in the hollows,

There's gold on the tree,

And South go the swallows

Away over sea.

They home in our steeple

That climbs in the wind,

And, parson and people,

We welcome them kind.

The steeple was set here

In 1266;

If William could get here

He'd burn it to sticks.