Classic Poem

While I write war tells me truth; as for brave
None might challenge Gloucesters, save those dead who have
Paid prices for pre-eminence, perhaps have got their pay.
But the common goodness of those soldiers shown day after day,
And the sight of each-hour beauty brilliant or most grave,
Stays with me yet. While I am forbidden to write
Tale of the continual readiness for a bad bloodiness,
And steadiness against hell-fire; and strained eyes with humour bright.
War told me truth: I have Severn's right of maker,
As of Cotswold: war told me: I was elect, I was born fit
To praise the three hundred feet depth of every acre
Between Tewkesbury and Stroudway, Side and Wales Gate.