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114 GREGG GODDARD
��THE AIRMAN
Wild wind, and drear, beneath the pale stars blow- ing,
Whom do you hunt to-night ? Out of the west into the storm-cloud glowing
A biplane wings her flight.
In the grey day-dawn was there no returning,
No homewards for the dead : — Only a broken wing, a biplane burning,
A shattered airship shed !
O Nation proud, on whose red altar gladly
One more young Life is laid. Scatter the news — flutter the posters madly —
"Triumph of British raid!"
What of the Cross they brought to her — his Mother? Wanly her dumb lips smiled. Then whispered : " Give back him — I had no other — My Son — my only child."
— Gregg Goddard.
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