Soldier poets, songs of the fighting men/E. Hardress Lloyd

E. HARDRESS LLOYD

Lieut., London Irish Rifles

 

FULL of the tumult of its triumph,
Its vaulted silences a frenzied shriek
Of mirthless laughter,
Is my Soul.

Like some strong swimmer from the deep,
Dripping water,
Is my Spirit,
From its bath of Earthly Love emerging.

Like a lone musician with his harp strings broken,
Viewing the void to which his melody has fled,
Like some weary Poet struggling with expression,
So is my withered heart, my burning head.