Classic Poem

I MAY not stand with other men, or ride
In those grey fields where fall the screaming shells,
Or mix my blood with blood of those who died
To find a heaven in their sevenfold hells.
Honour and death a strident bugle blows,
Setting an end to death and blasphemy —
Oh, had I any choice in it, God knows
Where in this epic day I too would be!
Yet may I keep some English heart alive
With a poet's pleasure in all English things —
Good-fellowship and kindliness still thrive
In English soil; the dusk is full of wings;
And by the river long reeds grow; and still
A little house sits brooding on the hill!