English poem
Iv
by Archibald Allan Bowman (1883–1936)
What do they do to-day? What form of fear Haunts the now voided chambers of their life, Troubling its ancient tenor, parent, wife, Survivors of the broken circle dear In the old home enisled, as in some drear Interspace of existence, till the strife Is overblown, and but the echoes rife Volley adown the days still left them here? How they must suffer!--Yet these later shocks Displace not from my brain the life it knew Before the Power that our planned journey mocks, Over our faring war’s dark glory drew; And when my miser mind its store unlocks, It takes out treasures rather old than new.
HESEPE, 20th May