I never longed so hungrily for spring Before, nor in the past and peaceful years Saw the first robin through a rush of tears, And heard his throaty whistle quivering. Bright squills the color of a bluebird's wing, And fruit-trees white as water round the weirs You hearten us more than a storm of cheers, Eternal beauty reawakening. Help us to know it is for you we fight, O Beauty of the many guises! Be Incarnate for us in white deeds: the flight Of wind-blown birds in May, and liberty, Still manifest no less in the grim night Of gallant failures like Gallipoli. |