A Generation (1917)
By John Collings Squire, Sir
There was a time that's gone
And will not come again,
We knew it was a pleasant time,
How good we never dreamed.
When, for a whimsy's sake,
We'd even play with pain,
For everything awaited us
And life immortal seemed.
It seemed unending then
To forward-looking eyes,
No thought of what postponement meant
Hung dark across our mirth;
We had years and strength enough
For any enterprise,
Our numerous companionship
Were heirs to all the earth.
But now all memory
Is one ironic truth,
We look like strangers at the boys
We were so long ago;
For half of us are dead,
And half have lost their youth,
And our hearts are scarred by many griefs,
That only age should know.