Of my own generation, my own mind;
Their strength and courage rooted deep in the earth
That brings men to such splendid birth
And no vain sacrifice ... 
It was as when the land all darkness lies,
And shades, nor only shades, move freely out
And through the trees are heard and all about
Their ancient ways, ’neath the old stars and skies. 
So now in morning’s light I knew them there
Leading the men that marched and marched away,
And mounted up the hill, and down the hill
Passed from my eyes and ears, and left the air
Trembling everywhere,
And then how still!

VI

Then first I knew the joy that yet should be
Ringing from camped hill and guarded sea
With England’s victory. 
The dust had stirred, the infinite dust had stirred,
It was the courage of the past I heard,
The virtue of those buried bones again
Animate in these marching Englishmen;
And nothing wanted if the dead but nerved
The living hands that the same England served. 
With new-washed eyes I saw as I went down
On the hill crest the oak-grove’s crown,
With new delighted ear heard the lark sing—­
That mad delighted thing;
The very smoke that rose was strangely blue,
But most the orchard brightened wonderfully new,
Where the wild spring, ere winter snow well gone,
Scattered her whiter, briefer snow-cloud down. 
And England lovelier looked than when
Her dead roused not her living men.

May, 1916.

THE RETURN

I heard the rumbling guns.  I saw the smoke,
  The unintelligible shock of hosts that still,
Far off, unseeing, strove and strove again: 
  And Beauty flying naked down the hill.

From morn to eve:  and then stern night cried Peace! 
  And shut the strife in darkness; all was still. 
Then slowly crept a triumph on the dark—­
  And I heard Beauty singing up the hill.

ENGLISH HILLS

O that I were
Where breaks the pure cold light
On English hills,
And peewits rising cry,
And gray is all the sky.

Or at evening there
When the faint slow light stays,
And far below
Sleeps the last lingering sound,
And night leans all round.

O then, O there
’Tis English haunted ground. 
The diligent stars
Creep out, watch, and smile;
The wise moon lingers awhile.

For surely there
Heroic shapes are moving,
Visible thoughts,
Passions, things divine,
Clear beneath clear star-shine.

O that I were
Again on English hills,
Seeing between
Laborious villages
Her cool dark loveliness.

HOMECOMING

When I came home from wanderings
  In a tall chattering ship,
I thought a hundred happy things,
Of people, places, and such things
  As I came sailing home.