Ballads of Battle/The Mirror
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THE MIRROR
To N. S., on the gift of a Metal Mirror received in the trenches.
When in this burnished steel I trace
My own begrimed and hair-grown face,
And, as of old, still smile to see
Some of the boy unquelled in me:
My own begrimed and hair-grown face,
And, as of old, still smile to see
Some of the boy unquelled in me:
I also vision a fair lawn,
O'er which a placid sky is drawn,
While the broad firth flows at our feet—
For heaven itself a mirror meet:
O'er which a placid sky is drawn,
While the broad firth flows at our feet—
For heaven itself a mirror meet:
A rosy copse, a roseate sky,
And we together, you and I,
In the garden at the cool of e'en,
Talking of dear dead things have been;
And we together, you and I,
In the garden at the cool of e'en,
Talking of dear dead things have been;
Turning our dearly-boughten store
Of Memories, o'er and o'er and o'er—
So fragrant that each well might be
Rose petal from life's thorny tree—
Till full hearts fountain into tears
To vivify these long-dead years!
Of Memories, o'er and o'er and o'er—
So fragrant that each well might be
Rose petal from life's thorny tree—
Till full hearts fountain into tears
To vivify these long-dead years!
When in this shining steel I trace
My own begrimed and hair-grown face;
A magic impress—I shall see
The smile of him who sent it me!
My own begrimed and hair-grown face;
A magic impress—I shall see
The smile of him who sent it me!
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