Soldier poets, songs of the fighting men/E. Hardress Lloyd
E. HARDRESS LLOYD
Lieut., London Irish Rifles
FULL of the tumult of its triumph,
Its vaulted silences a frenzied shriek
Of mirthless laughter,
Is my Soul.
Like some strong swimmer from the deep,
Is my Spirit,
From its bath of Earthly Love emerging.
Like a lone musician with his harp strings broken,
Viewing the void to which his melody has fled,
Like some weary Poet struggling with expression,
So is my withered heart, my burning head.