Now that I am ta'en away <br />And may not see another day <br />What is it to my eye appears? <br />What sound rings in my stricken ears? <br />Not even the voice of any friend <br />Or eyes beloved-world-without-end, <br />But scenes and sounds of the country-side <br />In far England across the tide: <br />An upland field when spring's begun, <br />Mellow beneath the evening sun…. <br />A circle of loose and lichened wall <br />Over which seven red pines fall…. <br />An orchard of wizen blossoming trees <br />Wherein the nesting chaffinches <br />Begin again the self-same song <br />All the late April day-time long…. <br />Paths that lead a shelving course <br />Between the chalk scarp and the gorse <br />By English downs; and oh! too well <br />I hear the hidden, clanking bell <br />Of wandering sheep…. I see the brown <br />Twilight of the huge, empty down <br />Soon blotted out! for now a lane <br />Glitters with warmth of May-time rain. <br />And on a shooting briar I see <br />A yellow bird who sings to me. <br /> <br />O yellow-hammer, once I heard <br />Thy yaffle when no other bird <br />Could to my sunk heart comfort bring; <br />But now I could not have thee sing <br />So sharp thy note is with the pain <br />Of England I may not see again! <br />Yet sing thy song: there answereth <br />Deep in me a voice which saith: <br /> <br /> <br />'The gorse upon the twilit down, <br />The English loam so sunset brown, <br />The bowed pines and the sheep-bells' clamour, <br />The wet, lit lane and the yellow-hammer, <br />The orchard and the chaffinch song <br />Only to the Brave belong. <br />And he shall lose their joy for aye <br />If their price he cannot pay. <br />Who shall find them dearer far <br />Enriched by blood alter long war. <br />'<br /><br />Robert Nichols<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-wars/
