And leaves are touched with fire ;
Somewhere beyond that golden rim
Lies hid our Love's desire.
And yonder, past those lithe-limbed pines,
Is waiting perfect rest ;
So come, my Love, come fleetly too,
The sun falls in the west.
But when we reached the Beacon Edge
The light had died away,
And there beneath, on level lands,
The quiet darkness lay.
Oh here, my Love, we twain will go
Together down the hill ;
This is the land of our desire,
To wander where you will.
The path streams mud beneath our feet,
The mist-drops slowly fall,
The fields are hid with weeping haze,
The hedge looms dimly tall.
But tell me, Love, what matters mire,
What matters rain or sleet ?
My arms are round your good rough coat---
I know that life is sweet.
Written by
Harold Parry
Harold Parry was just 20 yrs of age when he was Killed in Action at Ypres on May 6, 1917. He was born in Bloxwich and attended Queen Mary's School. This is just one of his many distinguished poems.
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