George Herbert Clarke, ed. (1873–1953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917.
Julian Grenfell
Into Battle
T
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun’s gaze glorying,
And quivers in the sunny breeze;
And Life is Colour and Warmth and Light,
And a striving evermore for these;
And he is dead who will not fight;
And who dies fighting has increase.
Take warmth, and life from the glowing earth;
Speed with the light-foot winds to run,
And with the trees to newer birth;
And find, when fighting shall be done,
Great rest, and fullness after dearth.
Hold him in their high comradeship,
The Dog-Star, and the Sisters Seven,
Orion’s Belt and sworded hip.
They stand to him each one a friend;
They gently speak in the windy weather;
They guide to valley and ridges’ end.
And the little owls that call by night,
Bid him be swift and keen as they,
As keen of ear, as swift of sight.
If this be the last song you shall sing,
Sing well, for you may not sing another;
Brother, sing.”
Before the brazen frenzy starts,
The horses show him nobler powers;
O patient eyes, courageous hearts!
And all things else are out of mind,
And only Joy-of-Battle takes
Him by the throat, and makes him blind,
Not caring much to know, that still
Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so
That it be not the Destined Will.
And in the air Death moans and sings;
But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,
And Night shall fold him in soft wings.