To His Love



He’s gone, and all our plans

are useless indeed.

We’ll no more walk on Cotswold

Where the sheep feed

Quietly and take no heed.


His body that was so quick

Is not as you

Knew it, on Severn river

Under the blue

Driving our small boat through.


You would not know him now…

But still he died

Nobly, so cover him over

with violets of pride

Purple from Severn side.


Cover, cover him soon!

And with thick-set

Masses of memoried flowers –

Hide that red wet

Thing I must somehow forget.

Ivor Gurney


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