Thorny and broken, crimson paven,
Chill with the winds that blow from night;
With many footsteps deeply graven,
Hidden in shade and bathed in light.
Winding afar thro’ dale and valley.
Twining on high, up hill and steep;
Trodden by hosts that may not dally,
Followed by eyes that never sleep.
Beaten of old by travellers lonely,
Bordered with hopes and joys and fears;
Followed by hosts, yet each one only.
Beating his way thro' blood and tears.
This is the way that we must follow.
Grief scarred and dark, incarnadined;
And at the end the bauble hollow.
Or the Great Crown, which may we find.
Chill with the winds that blow from night;
With many footsteps deeply graven,
Hidden in shade and bathed in light.
Winding afar thro’ dale and valley.
Twining on high, up hill and steep;
Trodden by hosts that may not dally,
Followed by eyes that never sleep.
Beaten of old by travellers lonely,
Bordered with hopes and joys and fears;
Followed by hosts, yet each one only.
Beating his way thro' blood and tears.
This is the way that we must follow.
Grief scarred and dark, incarnadined;
And at the end the bauble hollow.
Or the Great Crown, which may we find.
GRACE GIBSON.
Poem: The Witness, 22nd November 1918.
Image: Men of the 8th Battalion, East Yorkshire Regiment going up to the line near Frezenberg during the Third Battle of Ypres 1917. IWM Q 2978.
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