[v]

[vi]

[vi]

 [vii]TO THE MEMORY OF SIR CECIL SPRING-RICE

[vii]

I.

STEADFAST as any soldier of the line

S

He served his England, with the imminent death

Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine

The constant peril of each burdened breath.

England, and the honour of England, he still served

Walking the strict path, with the old high pride

Of those invincible knights who never swerved

One hair's breadth from the way until they died.

Quietness he loved, and books, and the grave beauty

Of England's Helicon, whose eternal light

Shines like a lantern on that road of duty,

Discerned by few in this chaotic night.

And his own pen, foretelling his release,

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