Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/156

 130 H. C. HARWOOD

Though scattered wider yet our youth

On every sea and continent. There shall come bitter with the truth

A fraction of the sons you sent.

When slowly with averted head, Some darkly, some with halting feet,

And bowed with mourning for the dead We walk the cheering, fluttering street,

A music terrible, austere

Shall rise from our returning ranks To change your merriment to fear,

And slay upon your lips your thanks ;

And on the brooding weary brows Of stronger sons, close enemies.

Are writ the ruin of your house And swift usurping dynasties.

— H. C. Harwood.

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