Under the unbroken shadow;
Under the shadowed peace that is the night;
Under the night's great quietude of shade.
The sheep below me in the meadow
Seem drifting on the haze, serene and white,
Pale pastured dreams, unearthly herds that roam
Where the dead reign and phantoms make their home.
They also pass, even as the clear ring
Of the sad Angelus through the vales echoing.

Montigny, 1918


XII

Where two roads meet amid the wood,
There stands a white sepulchral rood,
Beneath whose shadow, wayfarers
Would pause to offer up their prayers.
There is no house for miles around,
No sound of beast, no human sound,
Only the trees like sombre dreams
From whose bare boughs the water drips;
And the pale memory of death.
The haze hangs heavy without breath,
It hangs so heavy that it seems
To hold a silent finger to its lips.

In after years the spectral cross
Will be quite overgrown with moss,