Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/420

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Dost thou remember, Lord, the hearts that prayed

As down the shouting village street they swung,

The beautiful fighting-men? The sunlight flung

His keen young face up like an unfleshed blade. ..

O God, so young!

Lord, hast Thou gone away?

Once more through all the worlds thy touch I seek.

Lord, how can he be dead?

For he stood here just this day

With the live blood in his cheek,

And the live light in his head.

Lord, how can he be dead? Beatrice W. Ravenel

SPRING IN WAR-TIME