This poem was written by a man named Stevens Wallace. His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away. For round me the men will be lying That learned me the way to behave, And showed me my business of dying: Oh who would not sleep with the brave? Ever darker hell on high Reared its strength upon the sky, And our footfall on the track Fetched the daunting echo back. Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add The morrow to the day, what tongue has told? Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all's over; I only vex you the more I try. Stanza Twenty-Seven The moaning wind went wandering round The weeping prison-wall: Till like a wheel of turning-steel We felt the minutes crawl: O moaning wind! The weeping Pleiads wester, And the moon is under sea; From bourn to bourn of midnight Far sighs the rainy breeze: It sighs from a lost country To a land I have not known; The weeping Pleiads wester, And I lie down alone. O youth that wilt attain, On, for thine hour is short. And other sons she brings to birth But not my friend again.
Oh, God will save her, fear you not; Be you the men you've been, Get you the sons your fathers got, And God will save the Queen. The diamond tears adorning Thy low mound on the lea, Those are the tears of morning, That weeps, but not for thee. The thing that is their greatest burden is that which weighs on their hearts at night. Some seed the birds devour, And some the season mars, But here and there will flower, The solitary stars, And fields will yearly bear them As light-leaved spring comes on, And luckless lads will wear them When I am dead and gone. Ay, yonder lads are yet The fools that we were then; For oh, the sons we get Are still the sons of men. Leave your home behind, lad, And reach your friends your hand, And go, and luck go with you While Ludlow tower shall stand.
Blue the sky from east to west Arches, and the world is wide, Though the girl he loves the best Rouses from another's side. When thou descendest once the shades among, The stern assize and equal judgment o'er, Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue, No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more. I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern; And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell And watch them depart on the way that they will not return. The warders of the prison would never let this happen though. Over the hill the highway marches And what's beyond is wide: Oh soon enough will pine to nought Remembrance and the faithful thought That sits the grave beside. Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had The fingers of no heir will ever hold.
Tell me not here, it needs not saying, What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays, For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. When first my way to fair I took Few pence in purse had I, And long I used to stand and look At things I could not buy. On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble; His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves; The gale, it plies the saplings double, And thick on Severn snow the leaves. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters, Trampled to the floor it spanned, And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Some can gaze and not be sick, But I could never learn the trick.
Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May. The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. Oh, to the bed of ocean, To Africk and to Ind, I will arise and follow Along the rainy wind. Stanza Eight Silently we went round and round, And through each hollow mind The memory of dreadful things Rushed like a dreadful wind, And Horror stalked before each man, And terror crept behind. I will go where I am wanted, for the sergeant does not mind; He may be sick to see me but he treats me very kind: He gives me beer and breakfast and a ribbon for my cap, And I never knew a sweetheart spend her money on a chap. Stanza Two So they kept us close till nigh on noon, And then they rang the bell, And the Warders with their jingling keys Opened each listening cell, And down the iron stair we tramped, Each from his separate Hell.
On yonder island; not to rise, Never to stir forth free, Far from his folk a dead lad lies That once was friends with me. Farewell to a name and a number Recalled again To darkness and silence and slumber In blood and pain. But over sea and continent from sight Safe to the Indies has the earth conveyed The vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night, Her towering foolscap of eternal shade. By night I plucked it hueless, When morning broke 'twas blue: Blue at my breast I fastened The flower of sinner's rue. I felt he was highly directive in making decision and closed. Come to the stolen waters, And leap the guarded pale, And pull the flower in season Before desire shall fail.
And looked at me and beckoned, And laughed and led the way. Easily the gentle air Wafts the turning season on; Things to comfort them are there, Though 'tis true the best are gone. Well; but for all thou dost, Be sure it shall not save. How else but through a broken heart May Lord Christ enter in? By shores and woods and steeples Rejoicing hearts receive Poured on a hundred peoples The far-shed alms of eve. Afield for palms the girls repair, And sure enough the palms are there, And each will find by hedge or pond Her waving silver-tufted wand. In the opening scene after a flight mission, the crew was in disarray following the injuries and casualties of crew members in a failed mission under the command of Col Davenport. These issues are exacerbated by the silence of the night which is far worse than the prison bell that rings to signify morning.
When lads were home from labour At Abdon under Clee, A man would call his neighbour And both would send for me. Oh let not man remember The soul that God forgot But fetch the county kerchief And noose me in the knot And I will rot. There's empty acres west and east, But aye 'tis God's that bears the least: This hopeless garden that they sow With the seeds that never grow They shall have breath that never were, But he that was shall have it ne'er; The unconceived and unbegot Shall look on heaven, but he shall not. It seemed a herb of healing, A balsam and a sign, Flower of a heart whose trouble Must have been worse than mine. When shall I be dead and rid Of the wrong my father did? So braver notes the storm-cock sings To start the rusted wheel of things, And brutes in field and brutes in pen Leap that the world goes round again. There, on thoughts that once were mine, Day looks down the eastern steep, And the youth at morning shine Makes the vow he will not keep.