OUT OF THE FOG
On the man's tired face and shiny serge. . . .
On the boys' bright glances,
And the girl's flushed cheek on her father's coat.
Then turned as idly to the car cards above,
Flamboyant praises of soup and corsets;
And slipped to a thousand unaimed fancies
Of the end of the trip, and what would come next,
And yesterday . . . and yesterday. . . .
On the boys' bright glances,
And the girl's flushed cheek on her father's coat.
Then turned as idly to the car cards above,
Flamboyant praises of soup and corsets;
And slipped to a thousand unaimed fancies
Of the end of the trip, and what would come next,
And yesterday . . . and yesterday. . . .
III.
Did any one of us see through the fog
To the reality there before him,
In this family or any family, this thing or any thing?
Time did not begin and end in that instant.
Did we see back to babies clenched to burdened breasts,
Or the dreadful hours of swollen torment,
With the doctor's casual comments to the head nurse,
Before he turned again to his bloody task
As out of the shaken chaos within
This child, breathless, and tiny,
Was pushed forth?
Did any one of us see through the fog
To the reality there before him,
In this family or any family, this thing or any thing?
Time did not begin and end in that instant.
Did we see back to babies clenched to burdened breasts,
Or the dreadful hours of swollen torment,
With the doctor's casual comments to the head nurse,
Before he turned again to his bloody task
As out of the shaken chaos within
This child, breathless, and tiny,
Was pushed forth?
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