One is haunted by
The photo-ghost
Of unknown blond boy,
Name and moment lost

In the lumber-room
Of the century,
In the kingdom-come
Of adventuring.

Did Great War befall him,
Alter childhood,
Autumn thunder call him
Teened in Flanders’ mud?

So much goodness there,
So much delight.
Summer in his crop of hair,
Boyhood eye-bright.

O lush Edwardian
By picnic-peace beguiled,
O peach-blond Empire’s son,
For whom your smile?