Page:More songs by the fighting men, soldier poets, second series, 1917.djvu/90

 FRANK C. LEWIS

Belgium, 1914

I

HE lithe flames flicker through the veil of night,

Licking with bitter tongue; and soon the dawn

Will come, and gaunt and black against the white

Cool sky will loom a smoking home, forlorn

Of all the joy and peace that once was there.

The pleading, pitiful dead lie mute and cold

And all untended still. The fields are bare

Of the young green, the parent of the gold.

O little land, great-hearted, who didst give

Thine all for sake of others' liberty,

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