1914, and Other Poems

<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</SPAN></span></p> <div class="poem"><span class="i0 headstyle">III. THE DEAD</span></div> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!<br/></span> <span class="i1">There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,<br/></span> <span class="i1">But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.<br/></span> <span class="i0">These laid the world away; poured out the red<br/></span> <span class="i0">Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be<br/></span> <span class="i1">Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,<br/></span> <span class="i1">That men call age; and those who would have been,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Their sons, they gave, their immortality.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,<br/></span> <span class="i1">Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,<br/></span> <span class="i1">And paid his subjects with a royal wage;<br/></span> <span class="i0">And Nobleness walks in our ways again;<br/></span> <span class="i1">And we have come into our heritage.<br/></span></div> </div> <hr class="large" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />