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MILNE, Alan Alexander

Gold Braid

Same old trenches, same old view,

Same old rats as blooming tame,

Same old dug-outs, nothing new,

Same old smell, the very same,

Same old bodies out in front,

Same old ‘strafe’ from two till four,

Same old scratching, same old ‘unt,

Same old bloody war.

The Mirror

Between the woods the afternoon

Is fallen in a golden swoon,

The sun looks down from quiet skies

To where a quiet water lies,

And silent trees stoop down to the trees.

And there I saw a white swan make

Another white swan in the lake;

And, breast to breast, both motionless,

They waited for the wind's caress. . .

And all the water was at ease.