D. T. JONES
2nd Lieut., M.G.C., France
Flint
STAND in a hall, where carvèd men
Make love to thee and win thy heart.
And when thou kissest, cling for aye:
For of their band, thou art.
To a Warship
PROUD monster, swung in the bosom of the prouder deep,
I hear thy song, that hustles down the corridors of Time;
Is doom exultant in its strains—or is it peace?
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Cast forth thy iron soul upon the seas—and break
This cruel Inquisition of To-day.
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What wilt thou sing? What story wilt thou tell?
Where dwells thy fate—in Heaven or in Hell?
B.E.F., France, August 16, 1917.
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