Classic Poem

I know that honour is
Because I follow it.
I know that love is
My heart does cry for it.

The sun? I dare not watch.
The stars? I was night-walker:
My friends in the high arch —
By Cranham or high Crickley.

They hurt like unsought kisses
From a love one dare
Not love — they are the water-hisses
From a cooled iron, red-bare.

Greatness? I have sailed
A boat in March daring . . .
And made a music, called
All March to my caring

Whether I made well
Or no — and Vermand knows
Colour of my blood — Neuve Chapelle
Courage — as war's courage goes.

Love? A hundred know it.
Men have seen my eyes.
Women have watched love, though it
Failed at actualities.

Steel bound to my service,
Earth, blood and all.
Only England refuses . . .
Only life does not call . . .

Only meanness hurts her heart
Only rust her steel . . .
Only . . . She is coward, coward . . .
And I suffer agonies rightly, unheard,
Because she likes sin too well.