FRANK C. LEWIS[1]
Flight Sub-Lieut., R.N.A.S.
Belgium, 1914
I
THE lithe flames flicker through the veil of night,
Licking with bitter tongue; and soon the dawn
Will come, and gaunt and black against the white
Cool sky will loom a smoking home, forlorn
Of all the joy and peace that once was there.
The pleading, pitiful dead lie mute and cold
And all untended still. The fields are bare
Of the young green, the parent of the gold.
O little land, great-hearted, who didst give
- ↑ Flight Sub-Lieut. Frank C. Lewis, R.N.A.S., was killed in aerial combat in France on August 21st, 1917, aged 19 years. He had only been twelve days in France, being selected for a fighting squadron three days after he landed. His squadron commander described him as having already proved "a brilliant pilot," and of his last air fight that "he fought bravely to a noble end." He fell in our lines and is buried at Bailleul. The Belgium sonnets were written in 1915 while he was a boy at Marlborough.
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