  Like softly clanging cymbals were Plane-trees, poplars Autumn had Arrayed in gloriously sad Garments of beauty wind-astir; It was the day of all the dead— Toussaints. In sombre twos and threes Between those coloured pillars went Drab mourners. Full of presences The air seemed ... ever and anon rent By a slow bell’s solemnities. The past year’s gloriously dead Came, folk dear to that rich earth Had given them sustenance and birth, Breath and dreams and daily bread, Took labour-sweat, returned them mirth. Merville across the plain gleamed white, The thronged still air gave never a sound, Only, monotonous untoned The bell of grief and lost delight. Gay leaves slow fluttered to the ground. Sudden, that sense of peace and prayer Like vapour faded. Round the bend Swung lines of khaki without end.... Common was water, earth and air; Death seemed a hard thing not to mend. |
|
