Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/416

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been validated.

416
WOMEN AND THE WAR

Now they lie dead at Louvain,
Those simple kindly folk.
Some heard, some fled. It must be
Some slept, for they never woke.


I came to France. I was thirsty.
I sat me down to dine.
The host and his young wife served me
With bread and fruit and wine.


Now he lies dead at Cambrai—
He was sent among the first.
In dreams she sees him dying
Of wounds, of heat, of thirst.


At last I passed to Dover
And saw upon the shore
A tall young English captain
And soldiers, many more.


Now they lie dead at Dixmude,
The brave, the strong, the young!
I turn unto my homeland,
All my journey sung!


MOTHER AND MATE

LIGHTLY she slept, that splendid mother mine
Who faced death, undismayed, two hopeless years. . .
("Think of me sometimes, son, but not with tears
Lest my soul grieve," she writes. Oh, this divine
Unselfishness!). . .
Her favourite print smiled down—
The stippled Cupid, Bartolozzi-brown—
Upon my sorrow. Fire-gleams, fitful, played
Among her playthings—Toby mugs and jade. . . .