They left the fury of the fight,
And they were very tired.
The gates of Heaven were open quite,
Unguarded and unwired.
There was no sound of any gun,
The land was still and green;
Wide hills lay silent in the sun,
Blue valleys slept between.
They saw far-off a little wood
Stand up against the sky.
Knee-deep in grass a great tree stood;
Some lazy cows went by ...
There were some rooks sailed overhead,
And once a church-bell pealed.
"_God! but it's England_," someone said,
"_And there's a cricket-field!_"
_W. J. Turner_
W. J. Turner was born in 1889 and, although little known until his
appearance in _Georgian Poetry 1916-17_, has written no few delicate
and fanciful poems. _The Hunter_ (1916) and _The Dark Wind_ (1918)
both contain many verses as moving and musical as his splendid lines
on "Death," a poem which is unfortunately too long to quote.