Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/55

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The tall tower and the shealing

Alike must meet the blast,

And the world is strewn with shingle

From dwellings of the past."

But to the Grande Place, Arras,

Came, too, the hum of bees,

That suck the sea-pink's sweetness

From isles of the Hebrides,

And in Iona fashion

Homes mid old effigies:

Our cells the monks demolished

To make their mead of yore,

And still though we be ravished

Each Autumn of our store,

While the sun lasts, and the flower,

Tireless we'll gather more."

Up then and spake with twitt'rings

Out of the chanter reed,

Birds that each Spring to Appin,

Over the oceans speed,

And in its ruined castles

Make love again and breed:

Already see our brothers

Build in the tottering fane!

Though France should be a desert,

While love and Spring remain,

Men will come back to Arras,

And build and weave again."

So played the pipes in Arras

Their Gaelic symphony,

Sweet with old wisdom gathered

In isles of the Highland sea,

And eastward towards Cambrai

Roared the artillery. Neil Munro