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74 LORD CREWE
��A HARROW GRAVE IN FLANDERS
Here in the marshland, past the battered bridge,
One of a hundred grains untimely sown, Here, with his comrades of the hard-won ridge He rests, unknown.
His horoscope had seemed so plainly drawn.
School triumphs, earned apace in work and play ; Friendships at will ; then love's delightful dawn And mellowing day.
Home fostering hope ; some service to the State ;
Benignant age ; then the long tryst to keep Where in the yew-tree shadow congregate His fathers sleep.
Was here the one thing needful to distil
From life's alembic, through this holier fate. The man's essential soul, the hero-will ? We ask ; and wait.
— Crewe.
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