More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/David Cox McEwen Osborne
DAVID COX McEWEN OSBORNE
Lance-Corporal, 1st Middlesex
May-Day
WHO loveth whom He chasteneth
Hath smote the earth again
With golden rods of sunshine
And silver rods of rain.
Our little laughing sister
Hath doffed and put away
The black she wore for penance
And white for Easterday.
She binds her hair with cunning
And dons her gown of green
That all the flowers embroider
And all the dews wash clean.
Her golden-throated skylark
That sings and soars so high
With praise and adoration
Perfects the splendid sky.
For seed and soul that quicken
By Him have death withstood
Who blessed the whole Creation
And saw that it was good.
Private Claye
(Killed 27th June, 1917)
FROM clay in strength our native oak-tree grows
To height and girth and spread of largest span;
The sweet and crimson riot of the rose;
And wheat, the bread and sacrament of man.
Clay built our homes, and towns of civil folk
Where born were manners, arts and liberty;
Clay are the pipes whence age can blow but smoke,
And children orbs of bliss and vanity.
This is fine clay: our common clay is finer
Which England mine hath modelled not in strife
To strive for England, and the Great Designer
Into the nostrils breathed the breath of life.
Claye, I salute what everlasting fame
Informs thine ancient and illustrious name.