Re: The poetry of Philip Britts

ALONE

When the night is cold and the winds complain,
And the pine trees sigh for the coming rain,
I will light a lonely watch fire, near by a lonely wood,
And look up to see if the God I serve has seen and understood.
I'll watch the wood-ash whitened by the licking yellow tongues,
I'll watch the wood-smoke rising, sweet smoke that stings the lungs,
See the leaping, laughing watch fire throw shadows on the grass,
See the rushes bend and tremble, to let the shadows pass,
While my soul flies through the forest, back a trail of weary years--
And the clouds, as if in pity, shed their tears.
Oh, I do not want their pity for a trail that's closed behind,
Though all the things on earth combine to play upon the mind,
I must keep on riding forward to a goal I'll never find,
What matter the eyes have seen so much that the soul is colour-blind?

Philip Britts, 1934