Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/404

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Melinite that seared their brains,

Gas that slew them in a snare,

War's inferno of strange pains,

What are these to them who share

That great boon of silence there?

When like blood the moon is red;

And a shadow hides the sun,

We shall wake, the so-long dead,

We shall know our quarrel done,—

Will God tell us who has won? Ronald Lewis Carton

EACE! Vex us not: we are the Dead,

We are the Dead for England slain.

(O England and the English Spring,

The English Spring, the Spring-tide rain:

Ah, God, dear God, in England now!) . ..

The snows of Death are on our brow:

Peace! Vex us not!

Brothers, the footfalls of the year

(The Maiden month's in England now!). ..

I feel them pass above my head:

Alas, they echo on my heart!

(Ah, God, dear God, but England now!). ..

Peace! Vex me not, for I am dead;

The snows of Death are on my brow:

Peace! Vex me not!

Brothers, and I—I taste again,

Again I taste the Wine of Spring.

(O Wine of Spring and Bread of Love,

O lips that kiss and mouths that sing:

O Love and Spring in England now!) . ..

Peace! Vex me not, but pass above:

Sweet English Love, fleet English Spring—

Pass! Vex me not!