New Year, 1918

A song I never heard I must rehearse, Counting each hour a word, Counting each day a verse. Not of my proper choice Raise I my voice, While others--fierce and strong-- Raise theirs to drown my song.

Must I then sing aloud, Faint as a bird, And, like a bird, be proud To sing--to sing unheard? Weary and very weak, Shall I then seek A hearing, idiot-wise, From the unhearing skies?

Drowning my whispered dreams, Great voices cry. They sing their songs, it seems, With better heart than I. Hush--I can hear Death sing-- "Here is my sting." And the Grave echo--"See, Here is my victory"

To-night the heavens bend A little nearer. The singer is my friend, And I--at last--the hearer. No more to sing alone A song unknown,-- Hush--very tense and thin, The dawn-like notes begin.

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Crown 8vo. 6s. net.