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The Spike: or, Victoria University College Review, September, 1922

"She Thinks of One Dead in France."

page 28

"She Thinks of One Dead in France."

No questionings of fate nor broken cry
In all my singing:
Only, for me it sots the hoof-beats ringing
Down morning ways,
And slakes the lips of dreams (of close arms clinging,
And lilting days
With life a throbbing music) and so I
Sing on unto the night's unheeding sky.

I will be strong in the old patient wise,
And no more singing:
Only, to-day I saw the swallows winging
(In our own haunt,
Among the gums where last year's nests were swinging
All grey and gaunt)
Out from the blowing thatch for alien skies:
I think my heart will break when summer dies.

Seaforth Mackenzie.