Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, April 16, 1919 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 51 pages of information about Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, April 16, 1919.

Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, April 16, 1919 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 51 pages of information about Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, April 16, 1919.

  The hand of dawn is on the door
    That seals the dolorous arch of night;
  Dim gardens and hushed groves once more
    Dream of the half-forgotten light;
  Yet all the ancient fires are cold
    On altars battered and forlorn,
  And men grope still for gauds of gold,
    Oblivious of the imminent morn.

  When comes the dawn?  Its unseen dew
    Distils on folded swath and mound,
  Where grass is deep or sods are new,
    And branches shake without a sound;
  Where, numberless and low and grey,
    The furrows lessen to the sky;
  There sleep the sons of England, they
    Who died that England should not die.

  Better—­ah, better for us all,
    For them who sleep and us who wake,
  That never bird at dawn should call
    Nor golden foam of morning break;
  That on one high cairn of the dead
    The ultimate light should be unsealed,
  Than that the world should live unled,
    Unchanged, unpurified, unhealed.

  Life and all things that make it fair
    Men gave that better lives might be;
  They went exulting and aware
    Forth to the great discovery;
  But who will prize life over-much
    Or deem that death comes over-soon
  If hands of fools and barterers touch
    The architrave of Hope half-hewn!

  Under a brave new baldachin,
    New robes drooped o’er their crimson feet,
  The old unaltered twain begin
    Their ride along the embannered street;
  With golden charms for men to kiss
    A-swing from wrist and bridle-rein,
  The brethren Pride and Avarice,
    The monarchs of the world again.

  If this thing be and no new world
    Rise from the old dead world beneath,
  Then morning’s chaplet seven-pearled
    Is made the bauble-crest of death;
  All dreams belied, all vows made void,
    Pale Hope a wingless fugitive,
  And man a stumbling anthropoid—­
    Can these things be if England live?

  If England live, the anarch tide
    Shall lose itself among her waves,
  And the grey earth be glorified
    By the young blossom on her graves;
  And by her grace no power shall part;
    Fulfilment from the dreams that were,
  If still the music of her heart
    Be theirs who lived and died for her.

  D.M.S.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE DOVE AT SEA.

BIRD OF PEACE.  “EXCUSE ME, BUT IS THIS THE ARK?”

MAN OF WAR.  “DUNNO NOTHIN’ ABOUT NO ARK; BUT WE’RE FOR ARK-ANGEL, IF
THAT’S ANY USE TO YOU.”]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

[Illustration:  Sultan Addison (his mind on the house famine). “TELL ME THE STORY OF THE PALACE BUILT IN A SINGLE NIGHT.”]

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, April 16, 1919 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.