Page:Canadian poems of the great war.djvu/117

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��John Daniel Logan

And the Captains mark, in the dusky dawns,

The smile of God gild the rosy scar On his white young brow to a golden star,

While he roams with heroes the lilied lawns In the happy valley of Avalon.


HEN I, full-armed, marched forth through Picardy

(Not pleasant Picardy of yore), The spectacles I saw in Picardy

(In Picardy despoiled by war) Were not alone the wastes I thought would be,

Nor only deeds I should abhor, But I beheld in town, in trench, on plain

What may not be on earth again: The forms of Faith and Hope and Charity

Walk close with Death in Picardy.

The little village homes in Picardy,

Shell-wracked and tenantless and bare, Gaped lornly at the brown-clad soldiery

That trooped by blithe and debonair; But near the ruined Chateau Brevigny

I saw three wan- faced women fare Mongst wayside graves, smile sweet as holy nuns,

And bless the tombs of martyred sons. Then I knew Faith had found safe sanctuary

In widowed hearts in Picardy.

The once fair fields of fertile Picardy

(Oh, ruthless was the conqueror!) Stretched gray and fallow, far as I could see,

Unploughed save by the shards of war; But when I passed beyond Sainte Emelie

I glimpsed an old man, bent and hoar, At work afield while shells burst with their dread,

Fell deviltries above his head. Thus Hope held fast, and wove earth s livery

Of green and gold in Picardy.


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