CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY
We know not whom we trust Nor whitherward we fare, But we run because we must Through the great wide air.
The waters of the seas Are troubled as by storm. The tempest strips the trees And does not leave them warm. Docs the tearing tempest pause ? Do the tree-tops ask it why? So we run without a cause 'Neath the big bare sky.
The rain is on our lips, We do not run for prize. But the storm the water whips And the wave howls to the skies. The winds arise and strike it And scatter it like sand, And we run because we like it Through the broad bright land.
EDMUND BLUNDEN
Forefathers
ERE they went with smock and crook, Toil'd in the sun, loll'd in the shade, Here they muddled out the brook
And here their hatchet clear'd the glade: Harvest-supper woke their wit, Huntsman's moon their wooings lit.
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