CONTENTS
| PAGE | ||
| Autumn, 1917 | 27 | |
We know by many a tender token.
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| A Great White Company | 29 | |
A great white company.
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| Pro Patria Mortui | 31 | |
Say not they died for us.
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| At Night | 32 | |
Between the calling clamors of the day.
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| To Our Beloved | 33 | |
The hearts you knew in those unchallenged years.
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| Leave Us Our Tears | 35 | |
At your strong hands, O gallant men.
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| Convocation Hall | 36 | |
They rose.
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| In France's Flowered Fields | 37 | |
In France's flowered fields they lie.
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| Country of Mine | 39 | |
Country of mine that gave me birth.
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