Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/224

 LXXVII

(Omnibus Wiccamicis)

HE green and grey and purple day is barred with clouds of dun,

From Ypres city smouldering before the setting sun;

Another hour will see it flower, lamentable sight,

A bush of burning roses underneath the night.

Who's to fight for Flanders, who will set them free,

The war-worn lowlands by the English sea?

Who, my young companions, will choose a way to war,

That Marlborough, Wellington, have trodden out before?

Are these mere names? Then hear a solemn sound:

The blood of our brothers is crying from the ground:

"What we dared and died for, what the rest may do,

Little sons of Wykeham, is it naught to you?

"Father and Founder, our feet may never more

Tread the stones of Flint-Court or Gunner's green shore,

But wherever they assemble, we are pressing near,

Calling and calling:—could our brothers hear!"

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