Patriotic responses to war
Mabel Forrest, 'The Outpost'
A line of hills, a sudden spurt of flame,
A crackling volley, and from whence it came
A stirring – as of leave upon the tree,
When pale September buds drift silently.
A sky is blue and smiling overhead
Above a tumbled heap of brown and red;
And thro’ the yellow stems of long, dry grass
A startled train of searching black ants pass.
They do not fear, so quietly he lies;
They climb above the sightless staring eyes;
Across the lips of woman loved of yore.
This is the Red God’s harvest – this is war!