Iii

None than thyself more royally to-day Hath given to England in her hour of need. In every field where England’s children bleed Thine own have there more richly bled than they. And Oxford still incarnadines the clay To such a sanctity as doth o’erplead The voice of censure, silenced by the deed Of the great heart that laid them where they lay. ’Tis their’s, that murmur fluttering from the marge Of thither Acheron, where their cares they ply In deathless death: “O Mother mine, enlarge Thy life to England’s. Thou hast learned to die. But while thy life thou dost so grandly give, One thing thou lackest, Oxford: learn to live!”

HESEPE, 8th June