English poem
Iv
by Archibald Allan Bowman (1883–1936)
England, I trust thee. What thy soul hath planned Will be performed; and towards that last long end Thou hast not wavered since thou first did’st send Ship hot on ship, by freemen freely manned, Over the sea to France’s sacred strand. Faithful thou art, and knowest well to blend Patience with resolution, and to lend To thy heart’s aim thy gauntleted right hand. This in the main. And yet the enterprise Articulated, mocks the purposed whole With fitful effort; and the dread doth loom, As each fresh crisis darkens all the skies, That the Disruptive in thy restless soul, Become habitual, is become thy doom.
HESEPE, 28th June