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ARMISTICE DAY
It is the old, the odorous privacy
That once had been both peace and gentle song,
But now how such an evening troubles me
After earth's five most awful years of wrong...
Whilst inland, from the plains, the crags, the sea,
With all the stars the dead men's armies throng.
Be nothing in this book construed
Against your Hope and Hardihood:
They mourn you most who're most dismayed
To see your Golden Stars betrayed.
ARMISTICE
How close the white-ranked crosses stand
Beneath the flag which seems to be
A soaring, hovering glory-cloud
On lily fields of Calvary!
Ours, ours they are—
