More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/J. Peterson

J. PETERSON

Private, Seaforth Highlanders

 

Peace

"THERE is no peace, no peace," the big guns shout
⁠To drown the little voice that ev'ry hour,
⁠Persistent as the muezzin from his tower,
Proclaims that all is well.—Yet who shall doubt
The deep-sea thunder in dim moonlit caves,
⁠The green hills singing to the morning sun,
⁠The wild flowers flaunting till the day is done,
Or plaintive sea-gull cries o'er twilit waves?—
"No peace," they growl! The little voice pleads on:
⁠A lark high singing o'er the barrage blast,
⁠A moonbeam on the lake's dark bosom cast,
A whisper from a thousand mouths anon,
"Lo! beauty, beauty may not, cannot cease,
And beauty's thrice-starred crown is peace, is peace."

 

Arras

I WENT and walked by Arras
In the dim uncertain night;
I went and walked by Arras
In the dazzling noonday light;
First, I saw a fairy glamour—
Later, 'twas another sight.

Out by Arras in the night-time,
Star-shells in the starlit sky
Showered like wild silver raindrops
From a fountain scattered high,
Like the silver scales of fishes
In the tideway curving by.

Out by Arras in the night-time
There were glints of red and green
Like the glow of fairy camp-fires
In some hidden high wood seen,
Like the day-dawn of the night-land
Where no man has ever been.

Out by Arras in the day-time
There stretched broad the sun-parched sand
Where together men and torture
Lived with foul death hand and hand,
Horror-stricken, God-forsaken,
There stretched far the war-cursed land.

And upon the stretches barren
Far I saw the thousands lie
That the wind of war had blasted,
Sweeping on without a sigh;
In the hollows, huddled hundreds
Who were not afraid to die.