THE SLEEPERS
A battered roof where stars went tripping
With silver feet,
A broken roof whence rain came dripping,
Yet rest was sweet.
A dug-out where the rats ran squeaking
Under the ground,
And out in front the poor dead reeking!
Yet sleep was sound.
No longer house or dug-out keeping,
Within a cell
Of brown and bloody earth they’re sleeping;
Oh they sleep well.
Thrice blessed sleep, the balm of sorrow!
Thrice blessed eyes
Sealed up till on some doomsday morrow
The sun arise!
COMRADES O’ MINE
(Rondeau)
Comrades o’ mine, that were to me
More than my grief and gaiety,
More than my laughter or my pain:
Comrades, we shall not walk again
The road whereon we went so free—
The old way of Humanity.
But you are sleeping peacefully
Till the last dawn, heroic slain,
Comrades o’ mine.
Till the last moon shall fade and flee
You sleep. Oh sleep not dreamlessly,
You whereof only dreams remain,
Come you by dreams into my brain,
Inspire my visions, and still be
Comrades o’ mine!
TO R. E. K.
(In Memoriam)
Dear, rash, warm-hearted friend,
So careless of the end,
So worldly-foolish, so divinely-wise,
Who, caring not one jot
For place, gave all you’d got
To help your lesser fellow-men to rise.
Swift-footed, fleeter yet
Of heart. Swift to forget
The petty spite that life or men could show you;
Your last long race is won,
But beyond the sound of gun
You laugh and help men onward—if I know you.
Oh still you laugh, and walk,
And sing and frankly talk
(To angels) of the matters that amused you
In this bitter-sweet of life,
And we who keep its strife,
Take comfort in the thought how God has used you.