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DIRGE OF DEAD SISTERS

(1902)

HO recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order

(Violet peaks uplifted through the crystal evening air?)

And the clink of iron teacups and the piteous, noble laughter,

And the faces of the Sisters with the dust upon their hair?

(Now and not hereafter, while the breath is in our nostrils,

Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go byLet us now remember many honourable women,

Such as bade us turn again when we were like to die.)

Who recalls the morning and the thunder through the foothills

(Tufts of fleecy shrapnel strung along the empty plains?)

And the sun-scarred Red-Cross coaches creeping guarded to the culvert,

And the faces of the Sisters looking gravely from the trains?

DIRGE OF DEAD SISTERS

(When the days were torment and the nights were clouded terror,

When the Powers of Darkness had dominion on our soul

When we fled consuming through the Seven Hells of

fever,

These put out their hands to us and healed and made us whole.)

Who recalls the midnight by the bridge's wrecked abutment

(Autumn rain that rattled like a Maxim on the tin?) And the lightning-dazzled levels and the streaming, straining wagons,

And the faces of the Sisters as they bore the wounded in?

(Till the pain was merciful and stunned us into silence— When each nerve cried out on God that made the mis

used clay;

When the Body triumphed and the last poor shame departed

These abode our agonies and wiped the sweat away.)

Who recalls the noontide and the funerals through the market

(Blanket-hidden bodies, flagless, followed by the flies?)

And the footsore firing-party, and the dust and stench and staleness,

And the faces of the Sisters and the glory in their eyes?

(Bold behind the battle, in the open camp all-hallowed, Patient, wise, and mirthful in the ringed and reeking

town,

These endured unresting till they rested from their labours

Little wasted bodies, ah, so light to lower down!)

Yet their graves are scattered and their names are clean forgotten,

Earth shall not remember, but the Waiting Angel knows

Them that died at Uitvlugt when the plague was on the

city

Her that fell at Simon's Town in service on our foes.

Wherefore we they ransomed, while the breath is in our nostrils,

Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go by, Praise with love and worship many honourable women, Those that gave their lives for us when we were like to die!

THE ISLANDERS

(1902)

O doubt but ye are the People-your throne is above the King's.

Whoso speaks in your presence must say acceptable things:

Bowing the head in worship, bending the knee in fearBringing the word well smoothen-such as a King should hear.

Fenced by your careful fathers, ringed by your leaden seas, Long did ye wake in quiet and long lie down at ease; Till ye said of Strife, 'What is it?' of the Sword, 'It is far from our ken';

Till ye made a sport of your shrunken hosts and a toy of your armed men.

Ye stopped your ears to the warning-ye would neither look nor heed

Ye set your leisure before their toil and your lusts above their need.

Because of your witless learning and your beasts of warren and chase,

Ye grudged your sons to their service and your fields for their camping-place.

Ye forced them glean in the highways the straw for the bricks they brought;

Ye forced them follow in byways the craft that ye never taught.

Ye hindered and hampered and crippled; ye thrust out of sight and away

Those that would serve you for honour and those that served you for pay.

Then were the judgments loosened; then was your shame revealed,

At the hands of a little people, few but apt in the field.

Yet ye were saved by a remnant (and your land's longsuffering Star),

When your strong men cheered in their millions while your striplings went to the war.

Sons of the sheltered city-unmade, unhandled, unmeet

Ye pushed them raw to the battle as ye picked them raw from the street.

And what did ye look they should compass? Warcraft learned in a breath,

Knowledge unto occasion at the first far view of Death? So! And ye train your horses and the dogs ye feed and

prize?

How are the beasts more worthy than the souls your sacrifice?

But ye said, 'Their valour shall show them'; but ye said, "The end is close.'

And ye sent them comfits and pictures to help them harry your foes,

power, and ye flaunted

Ere-ye fawned on the Younger Nations for the men

who could shoot and ride!