The New Morning.

by Alfred Noyes.

DEDICATION

TO THE MEMORY OF SIR CECIL SPRING-RICE

I.

Steadfast as any soldier of the line He served his England, with the imminent death Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine The constant peril of each burdened breath.

England, and the honour of England, he still served Walking the strict path, with the old high pride Of those invincible knights who never swerved One hair's breadth from the way until they died.

Quietness he loved, and books, and the grave beauty Of England's Helicon, whose eternal light Shines like a lantern on that road of duty, Discerned by few in this chaotic night.

And his own pen, foretelling his release, Told us that he foreknew "the end was peace."

II.

Soldier of England, he shall live unsleeping Among his friends, with the old proud flag above; For even today her honour is in his keeping.

He has joined the hosts that guard her with their love.

They shine like stars, unnumbered happy legions, In that high realm where all our darkness dies.

He moves, with honour, in those loftier regions, Above this "world of pa.s.sion and of lies":

For so he called it, keeping his own pure pa.s.sion A silent flame before the true and good; Not fawning on the throng in this world's fashion To come and see what all might see who would.

Soldier of England, brave and gentle knight, The soul of Sidney welcomes you tonight.

THE NEW MORNING

"THE AVENUE OF THE ALLIES"

This is the song of the wind as it came Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:

_I am the breath of G.o.d. I am His laughter.

I am His Liberty. That is my name._

So it descended, at night, on the city.

So it went lavishing beauty and pity, Lighting the lordliest street of the world With half of the banners that earth has unfurled; Over the lamps that are brighter than stars.

Laughing aloud on its way to the wars, Proud as America, sweeping along Death and destruction like notes in a song, Leaping to battle as man to his mate, Joyous as G.o.d when he moved to create,-- Never was voice of a nation so glorious, Glad of its cause and afire with its fate!

Never did eagle on mightier pinion Tower to the height of a brighter dominion, Kindling the hope of the prophets to flame, Calling aloud on the deep as it came,

_Cleave me a way for an army with banners.

I am His Liberty. That is my name._

Know you the meaning of all they are doing?

Know you the light that their soul is pursuing?

Know you the might of the world they are making, This nation of nations whose heart is awaking?

What is this mingling of peoples and races?

Look at the wonder and joy in their faces!

Look how the folds of the union are spreading!

Look, for the nations are come to their wedding.

How shall the folk of our tongue be afraid of it?

England was born of it. England was made of it, Made of this welding of tribes into one, This marriage of pilgrims that followed the sun!

Briton and Roman and Saxon were drawn By winds of this Pentecost, out of the dawn, Westward, to make her one people of many; But here is a union more mighty than any.

Know you the soul of this deep exultation?

Know you the word that goes forth to this nation?

_I am the breath of G.o.d. I am His Liberty.

Let there be light over all His creation._

Over this Continent, wholly united, They that were foemen in Europe are plighted.

Here, in a league that our blindness and pride Doubted and flouted and mocked and denied, Dawns the Republic, the laughing, gigantic Europe, united, beyond the Atlantic.

That is America, speaking one tongue, Acting her epics before they are sung, Driving her rails from the palms to the snow, Through States that are greater than Emperors know, Forty-eight States that are empires in might, But ruled by the will of one people tonight, Nerved as one body, with net-works of steel, Merging their strength in the one Commonweal, Brooking no poverty, mocking at Mars, Building their cities to talk with the stars.

Thriving, increasing by myriads again Till even in numbers old Europe may wane.

How shall a son of the England they fought Fail to declare the full pride of his thought, Stand with the scoffers who, year after year, Bring the Republic their half-hidden sneer?

Now, as in beauty she stands at our side, Who shall withhold the full gift of his pride?

Not the great England who knows that her son, Washington, fought her, and Liberty won.

England, whose names like the stars in their station, Stand at the foot of that world's Declaration,-- Washington, Livingston, Langdon, she claims them, It is her right to be proud when she names them, Proud of that voice in the night as it came, Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:

_I am the breath of G.o.d. I am His laughter.

I am His Liberty. That is my name._

Flags, in themselves, are but rags that are dyed.

Flags, in that wind, are like nations enskied.

See, how they grapple the night as it rolls And trample it under like triumphing souls.

Over the city that never knew sleep, Look at the riotous folds as they leap.

Thousands of tri-colors, laughing for France, Ripple and whisper and thunder and dance; Thousands of flags for Great Britain aflame Answer their sisters in Liberty's name.

Belgium is burning in pride overhead.

Poland is near, and her sunrise is red.

Under and over, and fluttering between, Italy burgeons in red, white, and green.

See, how they climb like adventurous flowers, Over the tops of the terrible towers....

_There, in the darkness, the glories are mated.

There, in the darkness, a world is created.

There, in this Pentecost, streaming on high.

There, with a glory of stars in the sky.

There the broad flag of our union and liberty Rides the proud night-wind and tyrannies die._