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ARMISTICE DAY
Back to our shores he comes from the sad strand,
And some who know so much of that and this,
And what can never be, and what's amiss,
Give him cold welcome to his native land;
And some, the humbler hearted, understand
At least that through the strife he bears with him,
And shields as best he may with hopeful hand,
A little troubled flame, late-kindled and dim.
High tide in all the waters of the world,
The winds of all the wild years up and out,
And one frail light amid their fury swirled!
It shall not perish; strong through storm and doubt
It must burn on—to blaze at last sublime,
A watch-fire on the topmost hill of time.
