Here you will find the Poem What Of The Night? of poet John Le Gay Brereton
The doom is imminent of unholy hate. Hail to the light that glimmers where the leaves Are shaken by winds of dawning, and the sheaves Of hemlock swirl and scatter in the spate! Love, that has learned in faith to sorrow and wait, Sings loud his glorious charm and subtly weaves The spell subduing madness that receives The madman at his own mad estimate. Ah, but the ponderous horror! Nay, not yet The cloud of sorrow leeward growls and rolls; The eyes that meet the morn are heavy and wet. The loss the military mind enscrolls, Spilt blood and battered bones, we may forget, But not the wastage of beloved souls
