Author: Mary Webb

Cited by

• Louis de Bernieres (1)
  • IN: The Dust That Falls From Dreams (2015) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: Oh, Powers of Love, if still you lean Above a world so black with hate, Where yet--as it has ever been-- The loving heart is desolate, Look down upon the lad I love, (My brave lad, tramping through the mire)-- I cannot light his welcoming fire, Light Thou the stars for him above! Now nights are dark and mornings dim, Let him in his long watching know That I too count the minutes slow And light the lamp of love for him. The sight of death, the sleep forlorn, The old homesickness vast and dumb-- Amid these things, so bravely borne, Let my long thoughts about him come. I see him in the weary file; So young he is, so dear to me, With ever-ready sympathy And wistful eyes and cheerful smile. However far he travels on, Thought follows, like the willow-wren That flies the stormy seas again To lands where her delight is gone. Whatever he may be or do While absent far beyond my call, Bring him, the long day's march being through, Safe home to me some evenfall!
    FROM: The Lad Out There, (1917), Poem, UK
• de Bernieres, Louis (1)
  • IN: The Dust That Falls Froms Dreams (2015) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: Oh, Powers of Love, if still you lean Above a world so black with hate, Where yet--as it has ever been-- The loving heart is desolate, Look down upon the lad I love, (My brave lad, tramping through the mire)-- I cannot light his welcoming fire, Light Thou the stars for him above! Now nights are dark and mornings dim, Let him in his long watching know That I too count the minutes slow And light the lamp of love for him. The sight of death, the sleep forlorn, The old homesickness vast and dumb-- Amid these things, so bravely borne, Let my long thoughts about him come. I see him in the weary file; So young he is, so dear to me, With ever-ready sympathy And wistful eyes and cheerful smile. However far he travels on, Thought follows, like the willow-wren That flies the stormy seas again To lands where her delight is gone. Whatever he may be or do While absent far beyond my call, Bring him, the long day's march being through, Safe home to me some evenfall!
    FROM: The Lad Out There, (1917), Poem, UK