Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/110

 84 GEOFFREY FABER

��"FOR THOSE AT SEA"

(H.M.S. "Aboukir," "Cressy," "Hogue," September 22, 1914.)

Now all our English woodland sighs " October."

The mild sun going down behind the trees Doth bless a countryside as sweet and sober

As ever put on brown and red to please ; The brooks run blood, but 'tis such blood as Heav'n,

Pierced with light, lets fall on field and village ; England's dear breasts are still unbruised, unriv'n

The autumn peace on pastureland and tillage. Dear mother of us all, hast thou not heard ?

Thou knowest how thy sons, our brothers, died Of late, and hast thou not a sorrowful word ?

O no ! Thou dost contain thyself in pride. Pity suits not for those, who guarding thee Guard more than their own lives, for those at sea.

— Geoffrey Faber.

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