Charles John Beech Masefield
Given England's swords to keep her honour clean.
Which they shall be which pierce, and which be broken,
We know not, but we know that every hour
We must shine brighter, take an edge more keen.
July, 1915.
In Honorem Fortium
I SOMETIMES think that I have lived too long,
Who have heard so many a gay brave singer's song
Fail him for ever—seen so many sails
Lean out resplendent to the evil gales,
Then Death, the wrecker, get his harvest in.
Oh, ill it is, when men lose all, to win;
Grief though it be to die, 'tis grief yet more
To live and count the dear dead comrades o'er.
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Peace. After all you died not. We've no fear
But that, long ages hence, you will be near—
A thought by night—on the warm wind a breath,
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