POETRY.
Zy Octet Kea neairov.
THE darkness clutches at the land, Darkness pricked out with tongues of fire, Not such as wonderfully did stand Upon the Twelve at their desire;
A broken silence full of fear, But, see, God's blessed dawn is near.
The trench is filled with muffled men, The dew drips from the bayonet.
Now empty is each soldier's den, With triple care the watch is set.
The wind of dawn is in the sky, When will the darkness fade and die P In front the ragged broken posts Creep from the dimness into sight, They seem like strange, unnatural ghosts, That grow in strength as grows the light.
The latest flare trails through the sky, Man's light grows dim, God's light is nigh.
The naked earth, the secret wood, The tangled growth of last year's seed, Are dimly limned, half-understood, As dawn relieves the soldier's need.
The darkness melts in chilly grey, All waking things expect the day.
The heavenly east is flecked with gold, Fore-offering of our lord the Sun ; The tree-crowned hills in faerie mould Gleam, while beneath the white mists run, God's glorious day is come, that man May -work such havoc as he can.
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