Page:For remembrance, soldier poets who have fallen in the war, Adcock, 1920.djvu/80

56

And searched the garden's little length

A fresh pleasaunce to find;

And there some yellow daffodils and jasmine hanging high

Did rest the tired eye.

The fairest and most fragrant

Of the many sweets we found

Was a little bush of Daphne flower

Upon a grassy mound,

And so thick were the blossoms set and so divine the scent

That we were well content.

Hungry for Spring I bent my head,

The perfume fanned my face,

And all my soul was dancing

In that little lovely place,

Dancing with a measured step from wrecked and shattered towns

Away ... upon the Downs.

I saw green banks of daffodil,

Slim poplars in the breeze,

Great tan-brown hares in gusty March

A-courting on the leas,

And meadows with their glittering streams and silver scurrying dace;

Home—what a perfect place!

Not a hint of the war enters into the poems of Ivar Campbell, who, as Guy Ridley says in a Memoir of him, was