A .
V . Ratcliffe .
The war was weary
and
ended
not,
And
the news was sparse
and
vague
and
sad,
" Oh what is
the
fate of my
handsome lad ,
And what of his heart
so wild
and hot,
And what
of his lips
so mad
? "
“ What
of the
fate
of my
lad
whose
song
Was
all
for
love
,
and
for
joy
of
love
;
Whose
vows
in
the gold
of
my hair
were
wove
,
As his
nesting
arms
grew
sweet
and
strong
,
And
the starlight swam
above
?
"
Nay
,
lovely lass
,
with
thy
proud
gold
hair
,
Nay
,
lovely
lass
,
so
love forlorn
,
Who
standest
with
thy
heart
shred
-
torn
,
And
lean
'
st
thy
gaze
on
the
grim
hills
there
;
The
sad
grim
hills
of
morn
.
Nay
,
lovely
lass
,'
tis
well
,'
tis
well
,
Upon
the
third
wan
winter
's
noon
,
That
thou
goest
listless
by
the
dune
,
And
deep
into
the
forest dell
,
And moanest
for
thy tune
.
Oh
match
thee
with
the birchen
bark
,
And
let thy
feet
touch
dead
,
dead
leaves
,
And
gaze
thou
in
yon
stream
that grieves
,
To
see
thine eyes
so
sad
,
so
dark
,
And
thine
hair
like
golden
sheaves
.
164