Page:More songs by the fighting men, soldier poets, second series, 1917.djvu/75

Martin Hill We wander 'mid the grassfield where

The busy reaper wends his way,

The sharp scythe flashes on the air,

Heavy the scent of new-mown hay

Floats down the breeze, and all around

The stricken poppies strew the ground.

Slowly my half -felt sorrows go

And hope comes, gazing seaward where

The dim cliffs glitter, for I know

That these and you await me there,

And I shall find them dearer far

Enriched by all the pangs of war.

Requiescat

OW young and bright he was, and when he laughed

The air around seemed sharing in his joy;

Fair was the world to him, nor spot nor stain

Of all its hidden ugliness had laid

A mark upon his face (that mark that sears

And brands the souls that know it but too well);

But all that's lovely in it lay beneath

The wonder that shone shyly in his eyes.

A child of Nature he, of woods and sunlit ways,

Of rolling meadows where the air was sweet 71