CONTENTS POEMS OF THE WAR PAQE . . . . . . 3 . . . . . . 6 . . . . . . 7 . . . . . . 9 . . . . . . 11 . . . . . . 13 AD MORTUUM DEAD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Yom NAME . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 HEARTSD ESIRE . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Loss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 . 8 ix CONTENTS THEDBEAM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . m 3 a 9 n INMEMOBY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 IF LOVE OF MINE . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 AUVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 IN ALL LOVELINEBB . . . . . . . . . . . 43 INTOW . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 SPRING THE CHEAT . . . . . . . . . 46 THE MAGIC CITY . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 THE GHOST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 THETBUCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 MISCELLANEA POEMS OF THE WAR THE SPIRES OF OXFORD SEEN FROM A TRAIN I SAW the spires of Oxford As I was passing by, The grey spires of Oxford Against a pearl-grey sky My heart was with the Oxford men Who went abroad to die. The years go fast in Oxford, The golden years and gay The hoary colleges look down On careless boys at play, But when the bugles sounded-War They put their games away. They left the peaceful river, The cricket field, the quad, The shaven lawns of Oxford To seek a bloody sod. They gave their merry youth away For country and for God. 9 THE BPIRES OF OXFORD God rest you, happy gentlemen, Who laid your good lives down, Who took the khaki and the gun Instead of cap and gown. God bring you to a fairer place Than even Oxford town. HALLOW-EEN, 1915 WILL you come back to us, men of our hearts, tonight In the misty close of the brief October day Will you leave the alien graves where you sleep and steal away To see the gables and eaves of home grow dark in the evening light 0men of the manor and moated hall and farm, Come back to-night, treading softly over the grass The dew of the autumn dusk mill not betray where you pass The watchful dog may stir in his sleep but hell raise no hoarse alarm. Then you will stand, not strangers, but wishful to look At the kindly lamplight shed from the open door, 5 HALLO W-EEN, 1915 And the fire-lit casement where one, having wept you sore, Sits dreaming alone with her sorrow, not heeding her open book...