Poem by Walter John De la Mare

Truce

Far inland here Death's pinions mocked the roar
    Of English seas;
We sleep to wake no more,
    Hushed, and at ease;
Till sound a trump, shore on to echoing shore,
Rouse from a peace, unwonted then to war,
    Us and our enemies.

1. Idleness
2. Vain Finding
3. The Glimpse
4. Voices
5. The Universe

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