Page:Poems of the Great War - National Relief Fund.djvu/32

 Making their quarrel thine who are grieved like thee; And (if to thee the stars yield victory) Tempering their hate of the great foe, that hurled Vainly her strength against the conscience of the world, Though all their dead be countless as the stars, And all the living bitter as the sea.

I looked again, or dreamed I looked, and saw The stars again and all their place again. The moving mist had gone, and shining still The moon went high and pale above the hill. Not now those lights were trembling in the vast Ways of the nervy heaven, nor trembled earth; Profound and calm they gazed as the soft-shod hours passed. And with less fear (not with less awe, Remembering, England, all the blood and pain), How look, I cried, ye stern and solitary stars On these disastrous wars!

JOHN FREEMAN