With this broom, tool of my will, I do cleanse, purify and prepare this space. From this circle now I banish all fear, malice and misfortune, that this circle may be a fit meeting place for gods and men. As I do will, so mote it be.... Read more of BROOM HOME CLEANSING at White Magic.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Song Of The Aviator
(This poem was written for an entertainment given by the Y.M....

Harry Lauder Sings
Harry Lauder, an extremely popular Scotch singer and entertai...

November 11 1918
Sinners are said sometimes to repent and change their ways at...

The Lost Battalion
On December 24, 1918, Lieutenant Colonel Charles W. Whittlese...

Bombing Metz
ADAPTED FROM THE ACCOUNT WRITTEN BY RAOUL LUFBERY In Janua...

Why The United States Entered The War
The United States was slow to enter the war, because her peop...

The Quality Of Mercy
There is an old saying, Like king, like people, which means t...

Joyce Kilmer
The first poet and author in the American army to give up his...

Vive La France 1
The determination of the people of Alsace and Lorraine not ...

The Tommy
John Masefield, the English writer, says, St. George did not ...

The Searchlights
Political morality differs from individual morality, because ...

To Villingen--and Back
Very remarkable in the world struggle for liberty was the eag...

President Wilson In France
On December 14, 1918, President Wilson arrived in Paris. He ...

America Enters The War
SPEECH BY LLOYD GEORGE, BRITISH PREMIER, APRIL 12, 1917 ...

Duty
So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man...

The United States At War--in France
Adapted with a few omissions and changes in language from the...

In Memoriam
[THE FIGHTING YEARS, 1914-1918] Ring out, wild bells, ...

The Capture Of Dun
After the Americans had cleared the Saint Mihiel salient, Mar...

At The Front
What one soldier writes, millions have experienced. At f...

The Thirteenth Regiment
The World War has shown clearly that all peoples are not alik...



The Little Old Road






There's a breath of May in the breeze
On the little old road;
May in hedges and trees,
May, the red and the white,
May to left and to right,
Of the little old road.

There's a ribbon of grass either side
Of the little old road;
It's a strip just so wide,
A strip nobody owns,
Where a man's weary bones
When he feels getting old
May lie crushing the gold
Of the silverweed flower
For a long lazy hour
By the little old road.

There's no need to guide the old mare
On the little old road.
She knows that just there
Is the big gravel pit
(How we played in it
As mites of boys
In our corduroys!)
And that here is the pond
With the poplars beyond,
And more May--always May,
Away and away
Down the little old road.

There's a lot to make a man glad
On the little old road
(It's the home-going road),
And a lot to make him sad.
Ah! he'd like to forget,
But he can't, not just yet,
With chaps still out there. . . .
She's stopping, the steady old mare.
Is it here the road bends?
So the long journey ends
At the end of the old road,
The little old road.

There's some one, you say, at the gate
Of the little old house by the road?
Is it Mother? Or Kate?
And they're not going to mind
That, since Wypers, [1] I'm blind,
And the road is a long dark road?

GERTRUDE VAUGHAN.


[1] The Battle of Ypres.





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