The Dawn Patrol, and other poems of an aviator Part 3

_Ochey-les-Bains, 1917._

_The Country Beautiful_

I love the little daisies on the lawn Which contemplate with wide and placid eyes The blue and white enamel of the skies-- The larks which sing their mattin-song at dawn, High o'er the earth, and see the new Day born, All stained with amethyst and amber dyes.

I love the shadowy woodland's hidden prize Of fragrant violets, which the dewy morn

Doth open gently underneath the trees To cast elusive perfume on each hour-- The waving clover, full of drowsy bees, That take their murmurous way from flower to flower.

Who could but think--deep in some sun-flecked glade-- How G.o.d must love these things that He has made?

_Eastchurch, 1916._

_Chelsea_

How many of those youths who consecrate Their lives to art, and worship at her shrine, And sacrifice their early hours and late In serving her exacting whims divine Have gathered in old Chelsea's shaded peace, Whose faint, elusive charm, and gentle airs, Bring inspiration fresh, and sweet release From Trouble's haunting shapes and goblin cares?

O! tree-embowered hamlet, whose demesne Sleeps in the arms of London quietly, Whose sparrow-haunted roads, and squares serene, From all the stress of life seem ever free-- O! are you more than just a pa.s.sing dream Beside the city's slim and lovely stream?

_Luxeuil-les-Bains, 1917._

_K.L.H._

DIED OF WOUNDS RECEIVED AT THE DARDANELLES.

Where stern grey busts of G.o.ds and heroes old Frown down upon the corridors' chill stone, On which the sunbeam's amber pale is thrown From leaf-fringed windows, one of quiet mould Gazed long at those white chronicles which told Of honours that the stately School had known.

He read the names: and wondered if his own Would ever grace the walls in letters bold.

He knew not that he for the School would gain A greater honour with a greater price-- That, no long years of work, but bitter pain And his rich life, he was to sacrifice-- Not in a University's grey peace, But on the hilly sun-baked Chersonese.

_H.M.S. "Manica,"

Dardanelles, 1915._

_The Fringe of Heaven_

Now have I left the world and all its tears, And high above the sunny cloud-banks fly, Alone in all this vast and lonely sky-- This limpid s.p.a.ce in which the myriad spheres Go thundering on, whose song G.o.d only hears High in his heavens. Ah! how small seem I, And yet I know he hears my little cry Down there among Mankind's cruel jest and sneers.

And I forget the grief which I have known, And I forgive the mockers and their jest, And in this mightly solitude alone, I taste the joys of everlasting rest, Which I shall know when I have pa.s.sed away To live in Heaven's never-fading day.

_Written in the Air._

_Three Triolets_

COLOURS.

How bright is Earth's rich gown None but an Airman knows Yellow, and green, and brown-- How bright is Earth's rich gown!

I see, as I gaze down, Its purple, cream, and rose.

How bright is Earth's rich gown None but an Airman knows!

THE SEA.

Sad is the lonely sea-- So vast, and smooth, and grey It stretches far from me.

Sad is the lonely sea!

Its cheerful colours flee Before the fading day.

Sad is the lonely sea So vast, and smooth, and grey!

DISILLUSION.

You mortals see the sky-- I only see the ground, As through the air I fly.

You mortals see the sky, And yet with envy sigh Because to earth you're bound!

You mortals see the sky-- _I_ only see the ground!

_Written in the Air._

_Cloud Thoughts_

Above the clouds I sail, above the clouds, And wish my mind Above its clouds could climb as well, And leave behind The world and all its crowds, And ever dwell In such a calm and limpid solitude With ne'er a breath unkind or harsh or rude To break the spell-- With ne'er a thought to drive away The golden splendour of the day.

Alone and lost beneath the tranquil blue, My G.o.d! With you!

_Written in an Aeroplane._

_Autumn Regrets_