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The Second Line Of Defense
In Norwich, England, stands a memorial which will forever be ...

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

After-days
When the last gun has long withheld Its thunder, and i...

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

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

The Yank
The boche went into the war as a robber, the poilu as a crusa...

Waiting For The Flash
Not at once can the mind grasp the full significance of the w...

The Little Old Road
There's a breath of May in the breeze On the little ol...

To Wish To Take Away One From The Immortal Glory Which Belongs
to the Allied armies, nor from the undying gratitude which we o...

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

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

Alsace-lorraine
On slight pretext, Germany in 1864 and in 1866 had made wars ...

The Poilu
The soldier of France, the poilu, is a crusader. He is fight...

Where The Tide Turned
It is the general impression that the tide of victory set in ...

Trees
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. ...

The Turning Of The Tide
A division of marines and other American troops were rushed t...

The United States Marines
Our flag's unfurled to every breeze From dawn to setti...

Pershing At The Tomb Of Lafayette
They knew they were fighting our war. As the months gr...

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

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



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.





Next: Harry Lauder Sings

Previous: The Fleet That Lost Its Soul



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