THE VERDICTS
(Jutland 1916)
Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936

Not in the thick of the fight,
    Not in the press of the odds,
Do the heroes come to their height,
    Or we know the demi-gods.

That stands over till peace.
    We can only perceive
Men returned from the seas,
    Very grateful for leave.

They grant us sudden days
    Snatched from their business of war;
But we are too close to appraise
    What manner of men they are.

And, whether their names go down
    With age-kept victories,
Or whether they battle and drown
    Unreckoned, is hid from our eyes.

They are too near to be great,
    But our children shall understand
When and how our fate
    Was changed, and by whose hand.

Our children shall measure their worth.
    We are content to be blind . . .
But we know that we walk on a new-born earth
    With the saviours of mankind.

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THE WEST-OF-WESSEX GIRL
Thomas Hardy 1840-1928

A very West-of-Wessex girl,
   As blithe as blithe could be,
   Was once well-known to me,
And she would laud her native town,
   And hope and hope that we
Might sometime study up and down
   Its charms in company.

But never I squired my Wessex girl
   In jaunts to Hoe or street
   When hearts were high in beat,
Nor saw her in the marbled ways
   Where market-people meet
That in her bounding early days
   Were friendly with her feet.

Yet now my West-of-Wessex girl,
   When midnight hammers slow
   From Andrew's, blow by blow,
As phantom draws me by the hand
   To the place - Plymouth Hoe -
Where side by side in life, as planned,
   We never were to go!

-o0o-

A FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN
Anon

I'll sing you a good old song,
    Made by a good old pate,
Of a fine old English gentleman,
    Who had an old estate;
And who kept up his old mansion
    At a bountiful old rate,
With a good old porter to relieve
    The old poor at his gate -
Like a fine old English gentleman,
    All of the olden time.

His hall so old was hung around
    With pikes, and guns, and bows,
And swords and good old bucklers
    That had stood against old foes;
'Twas there "his worship" sat in state,
    In doublet and trunk hose,
And quaff'd his cup of good old sack
    To warm his good old nose -
Like a fine old English gentleman,
    All of the olden time.

When winter's cold brought frost and snow,
    He open'd his house to all;
And though three-score and ten his years,
    He featly led the ball.
Nor was the houseless wanderer
    E'er driven from his hall;
For while he feasted all the great,
    He ne'er forgot the small -
Like a fine old English gentleman,
    All of the olden time.

But time, though sweet, is strong in flight,
    And years roll swiftly by;
And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd
    The old man - he must die!
He laid him down quite tranquilly,
    Gave up his latest sigh;
And mournful stillness reign'd around,
    And tears bedew'd each eye -
For this good old English gentleman,
    All of the olden time.

Now, surely this is better far
    Than all the new parade
Of theatres and fancy balls,
    "At home" and masquerade!
And much more economical,
    For all his bills were paid.
Then leave your new vagaries quite,
    And take up the old trade -
Of a fine old English gentleman,
    All of the olden time.

-o0o-

A new art blog begins tomorrow
FAIRIES FANCIES AND FANTASIES
http://fairiesfanciesandfantasies.blogspot.com

The Poetry Path continues to be updated every Friday

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