The Spike or Victoria College Review 1941
De Mortuis
De Mortuis
Winter has crossed unchallenged the high passes,
In the chill dusk, mist creeps over the plain.
And those who fell midst the sweetness of summer grasses
Lie still in the rank mud churned by the rain.
And the trees in their gaunt agony, and the sad grey skies
Mourn for the slain. Ah, what will you say of the slain.
Will you tell us meekly in your restored ferro-concrete cathedrals
That they died in the holy cause of your prince of peace,
That they fell for freedom, not flinching from the machine-guns,
On the green hills of Greece.
No, you will not so tell us, for we will not hear you.
In the name of their youth we will rise and sweep you away
As shadows fleeing before the ruddy banners of morning
In the dawn of the new day.
Ivan.