Distinction - De Wolfe Howe
The village sleeps, a name unknown, till men
With life-blood stain its soil, and pay the due
That lifts it to eternal fame,—for then
’T is grown a Gettysburg or Waterloo.
More poems by Mark A
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"Whom the Gods Love" - De Wolfe Howe
“whom the gods love die young;”—if gods ye be,
Then generously might ye have spared to us
One from your vast unnumbered overplus, … -
The Travellers - De Wolfe Howe
They made them ready and we saw them go
Out of our very lives;
Yet this world holds them all, …