No More Learning

In dreams she sees him dying
Of wounds, of heat, of thirst.

At last I passed to Dover
And saw upon the shore
A tall young English captain
And soldiers, many more.

Now they lie dead at Dixmude,
The brave, the strong, the young!
I turn unto my homeland,
All my journey sung!

_Grace Fallow Norton_




A MOTHER'S DEDICATION


Dear son of mine, the baby days are over,
I can no longer shield you from the earth;
Yet in my heart always I must remember
How through the dark I fought to give you birth.

Dear son of mine, by all the lives behind you;
By all our fathers fought for in the past;
In this great war to which your birth has brought you,
Acquit you well, hold you our honour fast!

God guard you, son of mine, where'er you wander;
God lead the banners under which you fight;
You are my all, I give you to the Nation,
God shall uphold you that you fight aright.

_Margaret Peterson_




TO A MOTHER


Robbed mother of the stricken Motherland--
Two hearts in one and one among the dead,
Before your grave with an uncovered head
I, that am man, disquiet and silent stand
In reverence. It is your blood they shed;
It is your sacred self that they demand,
For one you bore in joy and hope, and planned
Would make yourself eternal, now has fled.

But though you yielded him unto the knife
And altar with a royal sacrifice
Of your most precious self and dearer life--
Your master gem and pearl above all price--
Content you; for the dawn this night restores
Shall be the dayspring of his soul and yours.

_Eden Phillpotts_




SPRING IN WAR-TIME


I feel the spring far off, far off,
The faint, far scent of bud and leaf--
Oh, how can spring take heart to come
To a world in grief,
Deep grief?

The sun turns north, the days grow long,
Later the evening star grows bright--
How can the daylight linger on
For men to fight,
Still fight?

The grass is waking in the ground,
Soon it will rise and blow in waves--
How can it have the heart to sway
Over the graves,
New graves?

Under the boughs where lovers walked
The apple-blooms will shed their breath--
But what of all the lovers now
Parted by Death,
Grey Death?

_Sara Teasdale_




OCCASIONAL NOTES


ASQUITH, HERBERT.
He received a commission in the Royal Marine Artillery
at the end of 1914 and served as a Second Lieutenant with an Anti-
Aircraft Battery in April, 1915, returning wounded during the following
June. He became a full Lieutenant in July, but was invalided home after
about six weeks. In June, 1916, he joined the Royal Field Artillery and
went out to France once again with a battery of field guns at the
beginning of March, 1917. Since that time he has been steadily on active
service.

BEWSHER, PAUL. He was educated at St. Paul's School, and is a
Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Naval Air Service.

BINYON, LAURENCE. His war writings include _The Winnowing Fan_ and _The
Anvil_, published in America under the title of _The Cause_.

BRIDGES, ROBERT. He has been Poet-Laureate of England since 1913.

BROOKE, RUPERT. He was born at Rugby on August 3, 1887, and became a
Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, in 1913. He was made a
Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve in September, 1914;
accompanied the Antwerp expedition in October of the same year; and
sailed with the British Mediterranean Expeditionary Force on February
28, 1915. He died in the Aegean, on April 23, and lies buried in the
island of Skyros. See the memorial poems in this volume, _The Island of
Skyros_, by John Masefield; and _Rupert Brooke_, by Moray Dalton.