An April Day.

(Oxford, 1915.)

Soft as a pearl the sun shone in the sky,
The veiling clouds with radiance were bright
And gave a softer beauty to his light.
One scarce could hear the softly murmured sigh
The tender little wind gave, stealing by.
It kissed caressingly the blossoms white
In which the orchard boughs were freshly dight
And in a swoon of love, there seemed to die.

I walked beside the river softly gray
And listened to a church's chiming bell
That called whoever heeded, there to pray.
A healing sense of Peace on all did dwell,
War, madly-waging, seemed whole worlds away—
Yet. through those dreaming hours, myriads fell.

—M.L.N.