R. C. G. DARTFORD
Captain, attached to Portuguese Expeditionary Force, France
A Soldier's Question: Spring, 1917
CURSE I the Spring that God has sent
Raising such discord in my soul ? . . .
'Twas fitter when the winter's blast
Could lash my spirit to the mast
And send me drugged by brute control
To battle with a grim content!
Then Death took hold on the neck of Life
And Earth's rough scalp lay touzled and scarred,
And the winter-scream swept round me fierce—
The softer visions to disperse—
While stripped by storms I stood on guard
Cleaving the wind with keener knife.
But now with Spring to dream or grieve
I am tempted, and the blushful day
Reveals her old-time beauty, far
From mating with the ghost of War.
Am I then laggard if I pray
From this soul's scaffold quick reprieve?
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