Robert Pike has sent us a poem from World War One which reflects the spirit of the season. Early in January 2015 we will be publishing an extensive article which explains the work of Robert Pike and his love of the poets of WW1.
The browns, the olives and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.
From off your face, into the winds of winter,
The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing;
But they shall gleam (again) with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing,
And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.
(Written on 18 October 1917 by Wilfred Owen, who then sent it to Arthur Newbould, the seven year-old son of some Edinburgh friends.)