But this practical quality, while it has so much that makes it rich and valuable, has also the one conspicuous disadvantage that the work is often done under conditions of strain and turmoil that tell against perfection of method. Some of these _Verses of a V.A.D._ were written in almost breathless intervals of severe and devoted duty. The poem entitled “The German Ward” is especially an example of this. In such circumstances, it is difficult to achieve any literary ornamentation and least of all that particular kind of simpleness which is the highest form of finished art. In the case of several of the poems, both these qualities have been achieved; yet, because of the difficulties, I make an appeal for considerateness and tender sympathy in judging these first shy flowers of the heart and mind of a young girl who has worked unceasingly and self-forgettingly for the good of others since the days of stress began, and who in her personal destiny has suffered as, I hope, very few have suffered.
Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of _The Oxford Magazine_, in which “May Morning” and “The Sisters buried at Lemnos” were first published.
GOD said, “Men have forgotten Me; The souls that sleep shall wake again, And blinded eyes must learn to see.”
So since redemption comes through pain He smote the earth with chastening rod, And brought Destruction’s lurid reign;
But where His desolation trod The people in their agony Despairing cried, “There is no God.”
ONE long, sweet kiss pressed close upon my lips, One moment’s rest on your swift-beating heart, And all was over, for the hour had come For us to part.
A sudden forward motion of the train, The world grown dark although the sun still shone, One last blurred look through aching tear-dimmed eyes-- And you were gone.
O YOU who sought to rend the stars from Heaven But rent instead your too-ambitious heart, Know that with those to whom Love’s joy is given You have not, nor can ever have, a part.
A nation’s loyalty might have been your glory, And men have blessed your name from shore to shore, But you have set the seal upon your story, And must go hence, alone for evermore.
NONE shall dispute Your kingship, nor declare Another could have held the place You hold, For though he brought me finer gifts than gold, And laid before my feet his heart made bare Of all but love for me, and sighed despair If I but feigned my favours to withhold, And would repudiate as sadly cold The proud and lofty manner that You wear,