By: Edward Thomas
Their ghosts, if tears have ghosts, did fall--that day
When twenty hounds streamed by me, not yet combed out
But still all equals in their rage of gladness
Upon the scent, made one, like a great dragon
In Blooming Dragon that bends toward the sun
and once bore hops: and on that other day
When I stepped out from the double-shadowed Tower
Into an April morning, stirring and sweet
And warm. Strange solitude was there and silence.
A mightier charm than any in the Tower
Possessed in the courtyard. They were changing guard
Soldiers in line, young English countrymen,
Fair-haired and ruddy, in white tunics. Drums
and fifes were playing "The British Grenadiers".
The men, the music piercing that solitude
and silence, told me truths I had not dreamed
And have forgotten since their beauty passed.