42 DANA BURNET
��There's none to laugh at you — no Httle child !
Not one. They've all gone back to sleeping."
She fell to awful weeping.
"Why do you play at soldiers?" Then dropped down
To pat the little grave. The line went on and on into the town.
They saw it first in the city's eyes,
Old men grouped by their fright, ran here and there In startled herds, with shrill unmeaning cries.
And there was white in every woman's hair, And when a window yielded them a face
'Twas like a flower blasted by the sun ;
Children there were none. The world seemed robbed of joyousness and grace,
A young girl with a head of snow Sat weaving garlands in the market-place
With hands unearthly slow. As though her toil must be The very measure of eternity.
A boy ran from the ranks, stooped, touched her brow ; " M argot, M argot ! Is it thou f " She did not glance up at the white-faced lad.
Deep in the gray line rang a sudden shout : " They're mad ! They're mad ! "
"Silence, you dogs, until you're mustered out. Forward, to greet the Emperor !"
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