25 NOVEMBER 1916, Page 12

POETRY.

TO DONALD HANKEY.

ESE breaks the last of these red dawns, Ere pass the livid nights away, Ere shines our monumental day, The day of marble and of bronze, When under noon's triumphal arch With flashing blade and tossing plume Like broken wave and frothed sea-spume The returning legions singing march • May I, a shadow briefly thrown Athwart the threshold of your sleep, Take me my chisel and cut deep Your living name upon the stone? Lest in our triumph we profane The victory our dead have won, Be your name with us then that none Shall say our dead have died in vain. 0. G.