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  | author  = Wilfred Gibson
  | author  = Wilfred Gibson
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{{PD-old-50}}
{{PD-pma|1962}}
[[Category:Wilfred Gibson]]
[[Category:Wilfred Gibson]]
[[Category:Sonnets]]
[[Category:Sonnets]]
{{TextQuality|75%}}

Revision as of 03:45, 18 June 2014

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written by Wilfred Gibson
Link to further information




Crouched on the crowded deck, we watch the sun
In naked gold leap out of a cold sea
Of shivering silver; and stretching drowsily
Crampt legs and arms, relieved that night is done
And the slinking, deep-sea peril past, we turn
Westward to see the chilly, sparkling light
Quicken the Wicklow Hills, till jewel-bright
In their Spring freshness of dewy green they burn.

And silent on the deck beside me stands
A soldier, lean and brown, with restless hands,
And eyes that stare unkindling on the life
And rapture of green hills and glistening morn:
He comes from Flanders home to his dead wife,
And I, from England, to my son newborn.


Works by this author are in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 63 years or less. cs | de | en | eo | es | fr | he | pl | ru | zh
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