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| Poetry- (alphabetical order by last name of author) |
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| A. J. J. |
| When he's returned I'll tell him � oh,
Dear fellow, I forgot: Time was you would have cared to know, But now it matters not. I mourn you, and you heed not how; Unsaid the word must stay; Last month was time enough, but now The news must keep for aye. Oh, many a month before I learn Will find me starting still And listening, as the days return, For him that never will. Strange, strange to think his blood is cold And mine flows easy on, And that straight look, that heart of gold, That grace, that manhood, gone. The word unsaid will stay unsaid Though there was much to say; Last month was time enough: he's dead, The news must keep for aye. -A. E. Housman |