��THE RETURN
Home across the clover
When the war was over
Came the young men slowly with an air of being old.
On a morning blue and gold
Through the weed-grown meadow-places
Marched young soldiers with old faces,
Marched the columns of the Emperor with dull,
bewildered eyes, And the day was like a rose upon the skies ; But they feared both light and life. Feared the aftermath of strife. Slow they came —
Now that it was over — Silent and sick and lame.
Home across the clover.
A woman knelt in a garden by the road,
Patting a little mound of earth With aimless hands. Along the highway flowed
The gray tide, while the day was at its birth. She heard the drums, looked up, half smiled :
"Why do you march," she said, "and play at soldiers?
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