Murray McClymont
To a Fallen Comrade
I HEARD the voice of Spring come softly pleading
Across the fresh and breathing wold to-day:
The sun, set free from cloudy bonds, was speeding
To greet the earth with each impassioned ray.
Wide-flung my casement in the cool I listened!
The birds were busy toying with a song,
And far afield where dappled grasses glistened
The meadow brook was murmuring along.
And then there came a bee with yet the numbing
Languors of the winter on its wings:
It turned to gold the quiet with its humming—
And then resumed its drowsy wanderings.
I looked upon the fields and trees and hedges
And saw before mine eyes a world reborn,
And on beyond the green world's utmost edges . . .
Where Hope retreated bleeding and forlorn!
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