That I watch’d and lov’d before;
But the horror, set and stable,
Haunts my soul forevermore!
Nov. 21, 1917
Sunset
The cloudless day is richer at its close;
A golden glory settles on the lea;
Soft, stealing shadows hint of cool repose
To mellowing landscape, and to calming sea.
And in that nobler, gentler, lovelier light,
The soul to sweeter, loftier bliss inclines;
Freed from the noonday glare, the favour’d sight
Increasing grace in earth and sky divines.
But ere the purest radiance crowns the green,
Or fairest lustre fills th’ expectant grove,
The twilight thickens, and the fleeting scene
Leaves but a hallow’d memory of love!
A Year Off
Had I a year to idle through,
With cash to waste and no restriction,
I’d plan a programme to outdo
The wildest feats of travel fiction.
On steamship guides I’d slake my thirst,
And railway maps would make me wiser—
America consider’d first
To please the local advertiser.
O’er England and the Continent
I’d chart a course to shame the sages,
In each cathedral town intent
To catch the colour of the ages.
Paris and Rome I would not miss;
Without the Rhine I’d be no planner,
For one must make a jaunt like this
A Grand Tour in the ancient manner!
But Europe is a trifle trite,
So I would spare no pains in learning
How best to scan in casual flight
The East, where sheiks and sands are burning.
I’d look up ferries on the Nile,
And ’bus fares for the trip to Mecca;
