Poems (Jenkins)/The House by the Highway

by Elinor Jenkins

The House by the Highway

ALL night, from the quiet street
 Comes the sound, without pause or break
Of the marching legions' feet
 To listeners lying awake.

Their faces may none descry;
 Night folds them close like a pall;
But the feet of them passing by
 Tramp on the hearts of all.

What comforting makes them strong?
 What trust and what fears have they
That march without music or song
 To death at the end of the way?

What faith in our victory?
 What hopes that beguile and bless?
What heaven-sent hilarity?
 What mirth and what weariness?

What valour from vanished years
 In the heart of youth confined?
What wellsprings of unshed tears
 For the loves they leave behind?

No sleep, my soul to befriend;
 No voice, neither answering light!
But darkness that knows no end
 And feet going by in the night.