To the backdrop of a happy atmosphere on the boat provided by a crowd of young men with mandolins, he wrote in October 1913 the poem ‘Clouds’, imagining the clouds to be spirits of the dead, scudding across the moon and observing the living beneath them. CloudsDown the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow, Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow Up to the white moon’s hidden loveliness. Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless, And turn with profound gesture vague and slow, As who would pray good for the world, but know Their benediction empty as they bless. They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth. The poem was to become a favourite of both his mother and Cathleen Nesbitt.On the same journey he began ‘A Memory’, a cathartic poem about Noel Olivier, born out of a letter written to Cathleen relating the story of his relationship with Noel.A MemorySomewhile before the dawn I rose, and stept Softly along the dim way to your room, And found you sleeping in the quiet gloom, And holiness about you as you slept.
