BY FLORENCE EARLE COATES
On re-reading Gallipoli and the Sonnets
I thought on England in her tragic hour
Of sacrifice supreme for human right;
Beheld her bleeding, broken in the fight
With a massed tyranny's stupendous power;
And musing on far graves where lie her flower
Of manhood, memory so dimmed my sight
That I forgot the dawn that crowned her night—
The victory that was her valor's dower.
Then, even as I grieved, I saw once more
How genius can atone and re-create:
How, by its own high gift, it can restore
The Land that gives it birth to sovereign State,
Rekindling glories that it knew before,
And deepening its life to life as great!