Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/179

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Tower of Ypres, a little slept your glory,

Lips again are busy with your name,

Ypres again is famous in our story,

Ypres of Flanders, wrapt in blood and flame—

Here the spring song,

There black ruin, hate and death and wrong.

Dear grey Sussex town, your childlike beauty,

Passing price and more desired than gold,

Speaks to English souls of love, and duty

Faithful in the little wars of old—

In our hearts still

Live your dreaming fens, your bastioned hill. Everard Owen April, 1917.

A SUMMER MORNING