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Vera Mary Brittain

Vera Mary Brittain

(“Died of Wounds”)

Because you died, I shall not rest again,

But wander ever through the lone world wide,

Seeking the shadow of a dream grown vain

Because you died.

I shall spend brief and idle hours beside

The many lesser loves that still remain,

But find in none my triumph and my pride;

And Disillusion's slow corroding stain

Will creep upon each quest but newly tried,

For every striving now shall nothing gain

Because you died.

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The Roundel by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Algernon Charles Swinburne

A roundel is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere,
With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought,
That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear
A roundel is wrought.

Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught—
Love, laughter, or mourning—remembrance of rapture or fear—
That fancy may fashion to hang in the ear of thought.

As a bird's quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear
Pause answer to pause, and again the same strain caught,
So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear,
A roundel is wrought.

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