Edmund Charles Blunden (Эдмунд Чарльз Бланден)

The Time Is Gone

      The time is gone when we could throw
      Our angle in the sleepy stream,
      And nothing more desired to know
      Than was it roach or was it bream?
      Sitting there in such a mute delight,
  The Kingfisher would come and on the rods alight.

      Or hurrying through the dewy hay
      Without a thought but to make haste
      We came to where the old ring lay
      And bats and balls seemed heaven at least.
      With our laughing and our giant strokes
  The echoes clacked among the chestnuts and the oaks.

      When the spring came up we got
      And out among wild Emmet Hills
      Blossoms, aye and pleasures sought
      And found! bloom withers, pleasure chills;
      Like geographers along green brooks
  We named the capes and tumbling bays and horseshoe crooks.

      But one day I found a man
      Leaning on the bridge’s rail;
      Dared his face as all to scan,
      And awestruck wondered what could ail
      An elder, blest with all the gifts of years,
  In such a happy place to shed such bitter tears.

1. The Festubert Shrine
2. The Scythe
3. Forefathers
4. Thiepval Wood
5. The Midnight Skaters

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