More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/Martin Hill
MARTIN HILL
Corporal, R.A.M.C.
On Seeing the Coast of England from Boulogne
A LONG low line of polished white
Faintly the cliffs of England gleam,
Now slowly fading out of sight,
Now swiftly leaping back, they seem
Strange joys, strange sorrows to impart,
And voices whisper at my heart.
A quiet wood, a quiet lane,
The song of birds amid the trees,
The splash of sun, the sting of rain,
The warm sweet air, the sighing breeze,
And you beside our cottage door
At eventide. Dear heart, once more
I see the first faint sunbeam tip
The East with gold, the hills light up,
Or stealing lower softly sip
The dewdrop from the rose's cup;
The glint of gorse upon the down,
The long ploughed meadow strong and brown.
We wander 'mid the grassfield where
The busy reaper wends his way,
The sharp scythe flashes on the air,
Heavy the scent of new-mown hay
Floats down the breeze, and all around
The stricken poppies strew the ground.
Slowly my half -felt sorrows go
And hope comes, gazing seaward where
The dim cliffs glitter, for I know
That these and you await me there,
And I shall find them dearer far
Enriched by all the pangs of war.
Requiescat
HOW young and bright he was, and when he laughed
The air around seemed sharing in his joy;
Fair was the world to him, nor spot nor stain
Of all its hidden ugliness had laid
A mark upon his face (that mark that sears
And brands the souls that know it but too well);
But all that's lovely in it lay beneath
The wonder that shone shyly in his eyes.
A child of Nature he, of woods and sunlit ways,
Of rolling meadows where the air was sweet
With new-born blossoms and the scent of hay;
Of hills and valleys, laughing streams and lakes
Where rustling reeds their whispered secrets told.
All these he knew and loved, they were his friends,
His sole companions, and through them he learnt
To know his mother Nature; all her moods
Diverse and strange he learnt them one by one;
Her summer laughter and her autumn tears,
Her seeming winter harshness and the sweet
Serene repentance of her early spring.
Life was his love, and in her warm soft arms
He freedom found from care, repose and peace,
And finding knew that it sufficed.
······
And then came War to claim him, dragged him forth,
Forth from his quiet world, and flung him down
Bewildered and amazed, yet unafraid,
The merest cypher in that crowded train.
So hour by hour the meanness of War,
And all its horrors, petty hates and sins
Raged round his struggling head, until the day
A wandering bullet found him, and Death took
Unto himself what Life once held so dear.
······
His face was smiling when they picked him up
As though he'd learnt his Mother's last great secret
And in learning found all well.
No. 7 Stationary Hospital, B.E.F., France.