by Zora Cross
He called….The quiet nurse stole to his side,
Seeing how with his hands he strove to hide
Dull tears, that from his mother's breast had sprung
And stayed in his because he was so young.
He spoke. "How long must I breathe England's air
When the home-hills are calling me out there?"
She leaned to him the pity of her soul,
For the Death-drums beat out a muffled toll.
April was laughing in the English lanes,
Daintily scornful of his soldier-pains.
April was whistling of a lover-band;
But his closed eyes were in another land…………
O, the lark, soaring up the English sky,
Had sung him home to meet the curlew's cry…….
He smiled……The little nurse bent over him-
Blue eyes unmisted with a memory dim-
And, moving gently from the dead apart,
She heard his green hills singing in her heart.
Zora Cross (1917)1917 (1017)