First World War Poetry Digital Archive



As Jane walked out below the hill, She saw an old man standing still, His eyes in trancèd sorrow bound On the broad stretch of barren ground.

His limbs were knarled like aged trees, His thin beard wrapt about his knees, His visage broad and parchment white, Aglint with pale reflected light.

He seemed a creature fall'n afar From some dim planet or faint star. Jane scanned him very close, and soon Cried,' 'Tis the old man from the moon.'

He raised his voice, a grating creak, But only to himself would speak, Groaning with tears in piteous pain, 'O! O! would I were home again.'

Then Jane ran off, quick as she could, To cheer his heart with drink and food. But ah, too late came ale and bread, She found the poor soul stretched stone-dead. And a new moon rode overhead.

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