4 FEBRUARY 1938, Page 12

PEACE

NIGHT arches England, and the winds are still ; Jasmine and honeysuckle steep the air ; Softly the stars that are all Europe's fill Her heaven-wide dark with radiancy fair ; That shadowed moon now waxing in the west, Stirs not a rumour in her tranquil seas ; Mysterious sleep has lulled her heart to rest, Deep even as theirs beneath her churchyard trees

Secure, serene ; dumb now the night-hawk's threat ; The guns' low thunder drumming o'er the tide ; The anguish pulsing in her stricken side . . .

All is at peace. Ah, never, heart, forget For this her youngest, best, and bravest died, These bright dews once were mixed with bloody sweat. WALTER DE LA MARE