Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/297

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POETS MILITANT
297

Yea! by your works are ye justified—toil unrelievèd;
Manifold labours co-ordinate each to the sending achievèd;
Discipline not of the feet but the soul unremitting unfeignèd;
Tortures unholy by flame and by maiming, known, faced and disdainèd;
Courage that shuns
Only foolhardiness;—even by these are ye worthy your guns!


Wherefore—and unto ye only—power has been given;
Yea! beyond man, over men, over desolate cities and riven;
Yea! beyond space, over earth and the seas and the sky's high dominions;
Yea! beyond time, over Hell and the fiends and the Death-Angel's pinions!
Vigilant ones,
Loose them, and shatter, and spare not! We are the guns!


A KISS

SHE kissed me when she said good-bye—
A child's kiss, neither bold nor shy.


We had met but a few short summer hours;
Talked of the sun, the wind, the flowers,


Sports and people; had rambled through
A casual catchy song or two,


And walked with arms linked to the car
By the light of a single misty star.


(It was war-time, you see, and the streets were dark
Lest the ravishing Hun should find a mark.)


And so we turned to say good-bye;
But somehow or other, I don't know why,