POEMS OLD AND NEW
He flung his empty revolver down the slope,
He climbed alone to the Eastward edge of the trees ;
All night long in a dream untroubled of hope
He brooded, clasping his knees.
He did riot hear the monotonous roar that fills
The ravine where the Yassin river sullenly flows •
He did not see the starlight on the Laspur hills,
Or the far Afghan snows.
He saw the April noon on his books aglow,
The wistaria trailing in at the window wide ; 10
He heard his father's voice from the terrace below
Calling him down to ride.
He saw the gray little church across the park,
The mounds that hide the loved and honoured
dead ;
The Norman arch, the chancel softly dark,
The brasses black and red.
He saw the School Close, sunny and green,
The runner beside him, the stand by the parapet
wall,
The distant tape, and the crowd roaring between
His own name over all. 20
He saw the dark wainscot and timbered roof,
The long tables, and the faces merry and keen ;
The College Eight and their trainer dining aloof,
The Dons on the dais serene.
He watched the liner's stem ploughing the foam,
He felt her trembling speed and the thrash of her
screw ;
He heard her passengers' voices talking of home,
He saw the flag she flew.
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