Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/386

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Wild were the headland skerries,

And wilder the sunset's frown,

And the kelpie lords were abroad in the dark,

When Kitchener went down;

Down in the hour of duty

His worldwide task scarce done,

'Mid the thunder of cannonading surfs,

And the searchlight gleam of the sun.

What fitter and truer ending,

Than greatly thus to die,

Called to his sleep in the kingly deep,

'Mid the pageant of water and sky;

To sink to his long, last slumber,

With Ocean to cradle his form;

And draw round the sweep of his lordly sleep

The mighty curtains of storm!

Yes, famed is the storied abbey

Where slumber our kingly dead;

And solemn the lofty-domed St. Paul's

Where the last sad rites are said;

But where in all earth's sepulchres

For this iron soul more meet,

Than to keep his rest where the titan surfs

Thunder at Bursay's feet? Wilfred Campbell

KITCHENER'S MARCH

OT the muffled drums for him

Nor the wailing of the fife.

Trumpets blaring to the charge

Were the music of his life.

Let the music of his death

Be the feet of marching men.

Let his heart a thousandfold

Take the field again!