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A Treasury of War Poetry

by George Herbert Clarke

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The Return

I heard the rumbling guns. I saw the smoke,
  The unintelligible shock of hosts that still,
Far off, unseeing, strove and strove again;
  And Beauty flying naked down the hill

From morn to eve: and the stern night cried Peace!
  And shut the strife in darkness: all was still,
Then slowly crept a triumph on the dark—
  And I heard Beauty singing up the hill.

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