More Songs by the Fighting Men
Plymouth Mists
TEAR-DIMMED eyes my loved one lifted,
When she said good-bye to me;
Sweet, grey eyes, where colours shifted
Like the shadows on the sea:
O'er the cliffs of Devon, keeping
Guard, like eyes, o'er Devon's mouth,
Sad, grey mists came stilly creeping,
Sorrow-laden, from the South.
Through the weary weight of sadness,
And the numbness of despair,
Came a thought that turned to gladness
Even the pain I could not bear:
Those proud cliffs were calling clearly,
As Drake heard them in his day:—
"England knows you love her dearly,
Weeps to send you far away."
'Neath this brazen, blazing heaven,
In a wilderness of sand,
Daily England's lives are given
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