RBW Online

ISSUE 259 Date: 19th October 2012

Issue 259

Page 2

Albert Camus (1913 – 1960) an Algerian–French author and Absurdist philosopher.

Don't let them tell us stories. Don't let them say of the man sentenced to death

"He is going to pay his debt to society," but: "They are going to cut off his head."

It looks like nothing. But it does make a little difference. And then there are

people who prefer to look their fate in the eye. = "Entre oui et non" in L'Envers

et l'endroit (1937), translated as "Between Yes and No", in World Review maga-

zine (March 1950),

Nous nous trompons toujours deux fois sur ceux que nous aimons: d'abord à leur avantage, puis

à leur désavantage. = We always deceive ourselves twice about the people we love — first to

their advantage, then to their disadvantage.

A Happy Death (written 1938), first published as La mort heureuse (1971), as translated by

Richard Howard (1972)

Perhaps we cannot prevent this world from being a world in which children are tortured. But we

can reduce the number of tortured children. And if you don’t help us, who else in the world can

help us do this? = Said at the Dominican Monastery of Latour-Maubourg (1948); reported in

Resistance, Rebellion and Death (translation by Justin O'Brien, 1961), p. 73.

We have exiled beauty; the Greeks took up arms for her. "Helen's Exile" (1948)

We turn our backs on nature; we are ashamed of beauty. Our wretched tragedies have a smell

of the office clinging to them, and the blood that trickles from them is the colour of printer's ink.

"Helen's Exile" (1948)

Man cannot do without beauty, and this is what our era pretends to want to disregard. It steels

itself to attain the absolute and authority; it wants to transfigure the world before having ex-

hausted it, to set it to rights before having understood it. Whatever it may say, our era is desert-

ing this world. "Helen's Exile" (1948)

O light! This is the cry of all the characters of ancient drama brought face to face with their fate.

This last resort was ours, too, and I knew it now. In the middle of winter I at last discovered that

there was in me an invincible summer. Return to Tipasa (1952)

Variant translation: In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible

summer. = As translated in Lyrical and Critical Essays (1968), p. 169; also in The Unquiet Vi-

sion : Mirrors of Man in Existentialism (1969) by Nathan A. Scott, p. 116

A character is never the author who created him. It is quite likely, however, that an author may

be all his characters simultaneously. = As quoted in Albert Camus : The Invincible Summer

(1958) by Albert Maquet, p. 86; a remark made about the Marquis de Sade.

With rebellion, awareness is born. = As quoted in The Estranged God : Modern Man's Search

for Belief (1966) by Anthony T. Padovano, p. 109

Tower of the Winds

Interior Shugborough

(image CMH)

LIFE OBSERVATIONS When the rich make war, it’s the poor that die. J P Sartre Autumn is like the Spring — only at this time every leaf is like a flower Few realize that some people have to expend tremendous mental energy merely to appear to be ‘normal’, or whatever happens to pass for normal behaviour at the time. Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned ‘customers’? These days, everyone is a ‘consumer’, a term I hate, since it suggests a mind-less and greedy swallowing-up of the earth’s precious resources. According to old wives’ tales it’s going to be a hard winter judging by the lush hedgerows top heavy with berry of all descriptions. Food waste: resolution ... I will try not be bamboozled by quantity marketing ... I will not buy two bags of potatoes at a reduced price only to throw half a bag away when I only needed one bag in the first place.

Issue 259

Page 3

Affinity n Feeling of identification—natural liking or identification with someone or something

Connection

A similarity of connection between people or things

Attractive

Someone to whom a person is attracted

Kinship by marriage not blood

Similarity in structure—e.g. In species—that suggests a common origin

Likelihood of chemical reaction

A measure of the likelihood of a chemical reaction taking place between two substances

Antigen—antibody attraction

The attraction between an antigen and an antibody

Empathy n Sympathy

Fellow–feeling

Attraction

Kinship

Viable adj

Practicable or worthwhile—able to be done or worth doing

Able to grow—able to germinate or develop normally

Able to survive outside the womb—foetus that can survive

Proposition n Proposal—an idea, offer or plan put forward for consideration

Statement— a statement of opinion or judgement

Offer—An invitation for sexual relations to take place

Private Agreement— a private deal or agreement

CLIVE’s three FREE e-books

NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?

PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Issue 259

Page 4

Steph’s two FREE poetry e-chapbooks now published on

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and on RBW main site

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

Portrait exhibition: Riverside Gallery, October 15-27th

Random words: dairy, manifesto, Maggie, tomatoes, coatser,

necessary, milk, spiral, moveable, vehicle 150 words

Assignment: - Jumble Sales or Bazaars 400 words

2012: RBW FREE e-books NOW

PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu.com

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

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Hedgerows Last week sitting in a high-ride coach was like watching a documentary on country-side management slipping by the win-dows. The hedgerows were viewed in all their autumnal glory of ripe rosehips and berries of every hue and description. The field boundaries with their wide scrub ribbons set against ancient hedge lines as corridors for wild life were clearly visible in county after county on the trip down south. Round of applause for UK farmers doing their bit for conservation, please! Sad, the end of summer: dark nights. Gardening over with a whimper of bon-fires Spade and trowel, hoe and fork, Hang oiled in the garage awaiting Spring. The last of the petals of ‘Iceberg’ fall, ‘Peace’ sheds its vanilla slices, ‘Scarlet Gem’ was a disappointment this year. Black spot too virulent: damn its eyes. Rosehips abound on the ramblers Scrambling over the privet. Should have done more deadheading. Tiny gems of red-gold wearing a rumpled crown, Dry spiked ruff holds proud the berry. Rosehip syrup the nostalgia of childhood: Rosehip tea with honey – not so good as Delrosa syrup On a daily spoon doled out by mother’s arthritic hands.

Issue 242

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Clive put on his skates and made his way to the library. He took a roll of wallpa-

per from his bag. Unfortunately, his favourite lunch, a package containing kiwi

and mustard baps had lain unseen next to the wallpaper and they had contami-

nated the entire roll. It was a complete disaster as the roll contained the recent,

brilliant ideas for the Writers’ Club’s next book. Members had spent precious

time perfecting the plot, setting it in a funfair and, by Steph’s definition, it was a

masterpiece and now the fruit and mustard stains had rendered it unreadable.

As you can imagine, Steph was pretty miffed and Clive was heartbroken that his

lunch was ruined. (YW)

E-Publicity Release: With just four weeks to go until this year's National Short Story Week we wanted to let you know what's happening around the UK to celebrate the week. Our recommended reading lists for adults and children are now available from the website. The adults' list has been chosen by prominent authors, actors and broadcasters, and our children's list has lots to chose from in-cluding titles about inner city life around the world, post-WWII childhood and Dr Who! See the lists at: http://www.nationalshortstoryweek.org.uk/recommended-reading-list.htm We're starting to get in news about events that are taking place during the week. You can see what's going on and submit your own event here: http://www.nationalshortstoryweek.org.uk/events.htm If you live in or near Hertfordshire we have a special storytelling evening to mark the publication of Overheard, by Salt Publishing. More details at

http://www.berkospeakeasy.co.uk

Keep an eye on our homepage over the next couple of weeks for more news about special writing podcasts with broadcaster Sue Cook and a new romantic fiction short story competition.

National Short Story Week 12th to 18th November 2012

The Good Earth PMW

Thank God for the good earth. Season by season she proves her faithfulness, She offers of her firstborn, So generous in her fruitfulness. Thank God for the good earth. She nurtures with such care The small seed entrusted by the farmer, Surrendering her progeny, matured, to the plough-share. Thank God for the good earth. She clothes the fields with grass and flower, Supports and sustains the giant oak, And graciously receives each summer shower. Thank God for the good earth. She, humble, modest, is aware of man’s abuse, Yet unconcerned, with a good grace labours on, Her patient, quiet benevolence continues. Thank God for the good earth. Unfailing towards us she yields her annual harvest, While we who reap her bounty without thought, Take as our right each year’s bequest. Thank God for the good earth. She our expectations oft exceeds, and from her flows A liberal blessing, which she generously bestows. Thank God for the good earth- Benignest of benefactors.

Stockfreeimages

Show and Tell

A very grumpy donkey.

Some folks have an affinity

with animals and some of us just don’t.

Random words, October 10th (PMW) “The funfair is coming to town!” the poster in the library announced. Jack thought that would be a cool place to take his cousin Harry, who was stay-ing with Jack’s family for two weeks. He was a Kiwi, and asked for a defini-tion of a funfair. “We don’t have them in New Zealand,” he explained. “You’ve got my room.” Jack told him. “I hope you don’t mind the wall-paper. I’m a Man United fan!” Unseen by Jack, Harry had hidden a package in Jack’s bed. “Hey, what’s this?” Jack exclaimed when he discovered it. “For you,” he said. Inside was an All Blacks rugby shirt. “Thanks. Now we’d better get our skates on, or we’ll miss the bus to the fair.” They had a great time, and rounded things off with a typical British treat; a bag of chips and a hot dog, liberally smothered with mustard.

Can you remember your first job?

Or ...

Were you ‘called-up’ to do a stint of

National Service?

If so please send in your memories for the

2013 memories project.

We hope to be able to collect enough

material to produce an e-book of memories.

As we no longer have the funding, or staffing, to go on a com-

munity tour collecting memories then we will have to think

laterally and produce the project in another way.

If you have old photographs that would be great ... scanned

in and sent as jpegs please.

My First Job

Did you work as a Saturday girl, or boy, while still at school?

Did you become an apprentice?

Did you start in the family business?

What princely sum were you paid for long hours?

National Service

Brasso, blanco and bull? Remember all that?

Nissan huts and square bashing, how did that appeal to a

Teddy Boy?

How much of a culture shock was this?

Did you go anywhere interesting?

What did you learn from the experience?

Were you the square peg in the round hole?

In retrospect did you gain anything from the time served?

I had unusual memories of my National Service. I served for two years in the RAF. Everyone had to do square-bashing - the drilling, the spit and polish and learning how to salute and march. But the summer of 1957 was so hot it was impossible to do any for a couple of weeks, so they sent all the rookies to an open-air pool in Hereford, where we passed the time sunning ourselves. I hit upon the idea of putting on a concert party to pass the time, so I sent a note around my new colleagues asking for anyone who wanted to take part to con-tact me. I soon had a group together of around a dozen amateur dancers, magicians, co-medians and jugglers. Together with the station band we formed a team and enter-tained our fellow squaddies. It got to the ear of the Station Commander, who arranged for us to stay together after square-bashing and I spent much of the next two years touring RAF camps, put-ting on our little show, much of which I wrote myself. One interesting anecdote among many - for the first show I wrote a little sketch (a bit like, but nowhere near as clever as, Ronnie Barker) which contained some dou-ble entendre. Fearing that this might be considered a bit rude I asked the Station Commander to view the rehearsal in case he found anything objectionable. He watched it entirely straight-faced. At the end he stood up and said: “Do you realise that my wife will be in the audience?” I replied “Yes sir.” His response was: "Well, she'll pee her drawers!" and he marched out laughing. The sketch did indeed go down well! Maurice Blisson

http://oldherefordpics.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Buildings (use permission requested)

My First Job I was very fortunate that my parents believed in self-sufficiency and when I told them some of my classmates had found Saturday jobs they were willing for me to have a go at work-experience as long as it did not interfere with my studying.

So when aged just 15 and a quarter with a tall girl from Baswich, whose name I can’t recall, and, who was far more confident than I, one Saturday morning we tried every shop in the High Street until we struck gold and were both taken on by a shoe shop catering for the lower end of the shoe market.

Thus began three years of Saturdays and school holidays selling cheap plastic shoes to the less discerning customers of the 1960s, being abused by mods and rockers alike for not having their particular fashion in stock, sworn at by irritable mothers cram-ming tiny feet into ill fitting shoes, leered at by old men who were not too particular about their trouser habits and sneered at by long thin girls with ironed hair who thought it was beneath High School girls to work in retail, but who weren’t opposed to asking for a share of our staff discount. For me the swinging sixties were flying by in a blur of algebra, French verbs and a longing for stilettos to die for which were way out of my price zone.

I was paid the princely sum of 17/6 for a frantic eight hour day and the prospect of a bonus if one could off load the really most hideous mistakes of the shoe buyer for the chain. The bonus was called a RWB (red, white and blue). Once a sale was made and the money deposited in the till (another one Arkwright would have been proud of) I had to tear off the front of the shoe box with the RWB stamp clearly visible and without injecting staples into unsuspecting thumbs – the boxes on those days were vicious with buried sta-ples – and to throw it into a shoe box with my name on which was stacked with those of the other staff under the counter. At the end of the month the bonus was added up and paid out – to me this could be as much as a £1.00. As each label was worth around 6 old pennies it was a lot of sales of hideous footwear that made up this hard earned bonus.

What did I learn? An awful lot about sales, marketing and customer relations. That the best cream cakes came from Taylors by the Elephant and Castle and that I never wanted to put my own feet into plastic shoes, ever.

© Prawny | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

Peacetime National Service may have started with the intention of keeping Britain's post-war army viable, but few expected that National Service would con-tinue until the 1960s thus having a profound effect on an entire generation. National Service

years cover almost two decades - from World War ll to the Swinging Sixties and Beatlemania. Between 1945 and 1963, 2.5 million young men were called up for National Service - 6,000

drafted every fortnight.

Peacetime conscription was formalised by the National Service Act 1948. From 1 January 1949, healthy males 17 to 21 years old had to serve in the Armed Forces for 18 months, and remain on the reserve list for four years. Men were exempt if they worked in "essential ser-

vices": coal mining, farming and the merchant navy for a period of eight years. If they quit early, they were called up.

By 1950, it must have been increasingly apparent to political leaders that the universal call-up to duty of national service was double-edged: not only would it supply more men than the

services could absorb, but would drain limited resources to train them, be taking young men out of the work force, and interrupt the higher education of those destined for the profes-sions or the uptake of apprenticeships. What it did to the interrupted personal relationships of

these thousands of “Virgin Soldiers” is the stuff of novels, films and legend.

National Servicemen were in combat operations, including in the Malayan Emergency, the Cyprus Emergency, in Kenya, the Mau Mau Uprising, and the Korean War. Conscripts to the Gloucestershire Regiment took part in the last

stand during the Battle of the Imjin River. National Servicemen also served in the Suez Crisis in 1956. 400 national servicemen died in war zones (Korea and

Malaya). Others took part in atomic tests (Christmas Island), or scandalously became human guinea pigs for germ warfare testing. Some young men simply

couldn't cope with the bullying and expected discipline of military life, or the pain of family separation and for these suicide was often their way out.

At first public opinion was behind peacetime conscription. In the immediate post war period Britain had considerable overseas military mopping up obligations, and only a limited number

of fit men still in active service. Germany was to be occupied with 100,000 troops; and like-wise Austria. In the Middle East, Palestine was to be policed, Aden to be protected, the Suez

Canal Zone to be controlled as well as obligations in Cyprus, Singapore and Hong Kong. For every ex-conscript, the medical is etched into memory - a comic ritual performed strictly

according to regulations, ending with the dreaded moment when a doctor told the young lads to drop their trousers and cough. The plain brown envelope summons to duty came a few

weeks after the medical, with the instruction to report to barracks for the start of ten weeks of basic training. The first day was always on a Thursday. (Nobody every knew why ...)

The breaking in of these reluctant young men was done on the parade ground. Many came to consider sergeant majors as demented psychopaths, who relished shouting and insulting the

new recruits. National servicemen had to learn military jargon. 'Blanco', 'spit n polish', 'rifle oil' , 'bull' and 'jankers'. Once shaven and shorn, and kitted out, within a few hours of arrival

the rookies all looked identical, their individuality, hopes and dreams on hold for two long years.

Source material: Wikipedia, web based historical sites and family reminiscences.

Alrewas Memorial

If you like lemon meringue pie — you should like this variation which is great if you’ve got a glut of raspberries and you’re sick of making jam.

Raspberry Meringue Pie 6 to 8 oz of sweetcrust pastry—that’s like shortcrustish but with added sugar and egg to bind it’s more difficult to roll but worth it for taste Raspberries ... If fresh you have to stew for a few minutes ... Tinned is easier ... Frozen just defrost they’ll be mushy enough Couple of tablespoons of Cornflour for binding; 4oz of sugar; 2 egg yolks; 1 lemon for the grated rind; 2 egg whites; 4oz of caster sugar for the meringue (if using 3 eggs for more volume use more sugar as well) Make sweetcrust and line a 9inch loose bottom flan tin — blind bake 190 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes until cooked through—if you don’t do this the flan will have a soggy bottom. If you can’t be bothered — then buy a pastry flan case ready made — or buy the pastry frozen and defrost it — you’d still have to blind bake it. What does blind bake mean? Line pastry in flan tin with greaseproof pa-per fill with dried peas and bake, then remove paper when firm and re-turn to oven to finish off drying process. Raspberries — mash and make up to half a pint with water if necessary add 4oz of sugar and heat gently, pour in cornflour made into a thin paste with water add egg yolks and lemon rind. Stir until it thickens. Watch cornflour as a thickening agent : it can be runny one minute and stiff as a brick the next. When thick enough leave to cool then pour into cooked pastry case. Meringue — whisk egg whites (when separating the eggs do not get any yolk in the white or they won’t hold air and will not rise no matter what you do) until thick and then whisk in most of the caster sugar (if you haven’t got any caster sugar you can make a substitute by blitzing ordi-nary sugar in a blender for a few minutes). You can tell if the meringue is whisked enough if you can upend the bowl — this is not a test for the faint hearted or seriously dim — Glossy stiff peaks is also a good method of telling if it’s whisked enough. Pile meringue on top of raspberry custard in the pie dish, sprinkle with caster sugar—return to oven and bake at 190 degrees for about eight to ten minutes until golden brown — keep an eye on this as it might not need that long. It depends on if you’ve got a quick or a slow oven which has nothing to do with what it says on the dial ...

© W

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Children: Improving Talking and

Listening Skills

http://

www.thecommunicationtrust.org.uk/

schools/no-pens-day-wednesday.aspx

A survey of two hundred young people in an inner

city secondary school found that 75% of children had communication problems that hampered

relationships, behaviour and learning.

Following the success of last year's No Pens Day Wednesday,

the project returned on Wednesday 10th October!

No Pens Day Wednesday was a flagship project of the Hello

campaign (National Year of Communication Event), which en-

couraged schools to put down their pens and to run a day of

speaking and listening activities.

Over 800 schools took part in 2011 using resources

and lesson templates provided by the Trust.

Man Booker shortlisted author to inspire prisoners to read http://www.literacytrust.org.uk/news/4867_man_booker_shortlist_author_to_inspire_prisoners_to_read

Literacy is a significant issue in all prisons: 60% of prisoners have difficulties with basic literacy skills, half the male prison population was excluded from school and 20-30% of the prison population has learning difficulties.

Molasses, has come back into fashion in the last twenty years or so, but when we were kids father had a forty gallon drum in the corn shed on a block so he could run off some when it was needed. The drum was half used and thick with mill dust, and the lower small bung was only finger tight. We used to take this bung out and wait for the treacle to slowly ooze out and get fingers full of the stuff before replacing the bung

Black Molasses in the Barn

I Remember at the Beeches, way back in the barn, A great big forty gallon drum, on a block away from harm, It contained black molasses; a good half of it was used,

With hot water mixed, spread on oats when they were bruised.

Take the bung out and wait a bit, for it to slowly flow, We all liked to have a taste, dad said it'd help us grow, A finger full and then another, it was lov-ely and sweet,

Left your hands all sticky, you couldn't be discreet.

We had plenty over the time, but still a lot unused, Mother said it would move us, but father he was amused,

He said a good clean out, every now and then, Would tone us up, and help us all, to grow to big strong men.

Countryman Owd Fred

Wikipedia image

Public domain

Jan Watts has just passed on her Birmingham Poet Laureate laurels to Steven Morrison-Burke. Over the last year, Jan has enjoyed writing, running work-shops, mentoring and performing poetry around the West Midlands. She started the successful Phenomenal Women Poetry Nights and has run Writers' Retreats at Erdington Library. She is now Writer in Residence with Community Vibe, working with vulnerable adults and supporting them in producing exciting theatre, as well as writing and performing in Corporate Forum Theatre productions. She has a play for children, Messy Jessie being produced at the Blue Orange Theatre this Christmas and a book of the same name being launched in 2013. You can find Jan's Vlogs on YouTube under Jantegla and her website is www.janwatts.com

The Reduced Chiller Jan Watts

At the corner of the aisle, where dairy meets gluten free,

we feel the pull of

the reduced chiller.

Trolleys congregate

by the past their sell by date

goodies.

A frigid draught shocks

and goosepimples arms

that compete to pluck

in the fresh food

prize fight.

Middle Shelf

Mottled quails’ eggs

showing signs of aging

sit in sixes

shoulder to shoulder with a stack of

greying pizzas

breathing their last.

Bottom Shelf

No one fingers a lonely squished trifle that puts on a brave face

with a smile of sallow chocolate curls.

Top Shelf

I am tempted by the radiant sushi

And two low tubs,

high in fat

And bad fat at that,

Of Organic clotted cream

Mmmmm, fresh - ish from Cornwall,

But I leave a forgotten egg and cress. not tempted by its price.

I take raw fish and the homogenised

heaven

to the car park

for a swift snack.

But

Be warned.

These reductions are increases.

Never shop on an empty stomach

or the chiller will pull you in.

Big thank you to Jan for taking

time out of her busy schedule to

make time for RBW.

Issue 259

Page 12

Alfred Edward Housman

( 26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936), usually known as

A. E. Housman, was an English classical scholar and

poet, best known for his collection of poems entitled

A Shropshire Lad.

Lyrical and witty in form, the poems' wistful evocation of

doomed youth in the English countryside, in spare lan-

guage and distinctive imagery, appealed to late Victo-

rian and Edwardian taste.

Through its song-like setting the concise verse became closely associated with

that era, and with Shropshire.

Regarded for the range of his intellect, Housman was counted one of the fore-

most classicists of his age. He was appointed Professor of Latin at University Col-

lege London and later, at Cambridge.

A Shropshire Lad is a cycle of sixty-three poems by Alfred Edward Housman.

Some of the best-known in the collection are "To an Athlete Dying Young",

"Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now" and "When I Was One-and-Twenty".

A Shropshire Lad was first published in 1896 at Housman's own expense after

several publishers turned it down. The book sold slowly, but during the Second

Boer War (1899–1902), Housman's nostalgic depiction of rural life and young

men's death struck a chord with readers and the book became a bestseller.

World War I further increased its popularity.

Housman found his vocation in classical studies and treated poetry as a secon-

dary activity. He did not speak about his poetry in public until 1933 when he

gave a lecture, "The Name and Nature of Poetry", in which he argued that

poetry should appeal to emotions rather than to the intellect.

Housman died aged 77, in Cambridge. His ashes are buried near St Laurence's

Church, Ludlow, Shropshire. The University of Worcester has acknowledged

Housman's local connection by naming a new building after him. In the church-

yard is planted a commemorative cherry tree.

A Shropshire Lad II:

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,

Twenty will not come again,

And take from seventy springs a score,

It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,

About the woodlands I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

When I was one-and-twenty

When I was one-and-twenty

I heard a wise man say,

"Give crowns and pounds and guineas

But not your heart away;

Give pearls away and rubies

But keep your fancy free."

But I was one-and-twenty,

No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty

I heard him say again,

"The heart out of the bosom

Was never given in vain;

'Tis paid with sighs a plenty

And sold for endless rue."

And I am two-and-twenty

And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

"To An Athlete Dying Young"

The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the market-place;

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields where glory does not stay

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout

Of lads that wore their honours out,

Runners whom renown outran

And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,

The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl's.

© Alexshebanov | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

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