<h2><SPAN name="page17"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>PEACE.<br/> <span class="GutSmall">A STUDY.</span></h2>
<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> stood, a worn-out
City clerk—<br/>
Who’d toil’d, and seen no holiday,<br/>
For forty years from dawn to dark—<br/>
Alone beside Caermarthen Bay.</p>
<p class="poetry">He felt the salt spray on his lips;<br/>
Heard children’s voices on the sands;<br/>
Up the sun’s path he saw the ships<br/>
Sail on and on to other lands;</p>
<p class="poetry">And laugh’d aloud. Each sight and
sound<br/>
To him was joy too deep for tears;<br/>
He sat him on the beach, and bound<br/>
A blue bandana round his ears:</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page18"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
18</span>And thought how, posted near his door,<br/>
His own green door on Camden Hill,<br/>
Two bands at least, most likely more,<br/>
Were mingling at their own sweet will</p>
<p class="poetry">Verdi with Vance. And at the thought<br/>
He laugh’d again, and softly drew<br/>
That Morning Herald that he’d bought<br/>
Forth from his breast, and read it through.</p>
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