DUTY
I did not hate the man I killed,
That soldier tall with eye of blue.
I might have spared him had I willed,
I did what Duty bade me do.
The Duty that was his and mine,
The thing to which we both were sworn,
To take the human life divine
Of God, unto a woman born.
To drain the body's coursing blood,
To dark the shining eye's bright ray,
To limp the form that proudly stood
And make of it but lifeless clay.
We had been days in battle grim,
And foot by foot had nearer crept.
Amid the carnage and the din
Had eaten little, little slept.
And then we charged; I saw the gleam
Of bayonets in the bright sunshine.
We charged with faces fierce and lean,
I sought his life and he sought mine.
I took his life, I saw him reel;
I pierced his body through and through,
And as I plucked away the steel,
I met his eyes so wide and blue.
Then passed the battle tide along.
Like one gone mad I fought and slew;
I had no thought of right or wrong,
To fight and kill was all I knew.
We swept the field, we won the day.
Entrenched upon the plain I slept;
Morn came and with it shadows gray,
And something in my heart that wept.
And if to think be not a crime
For those who fight the fight of Kings,
Upon that plain at dawning time
I thought of sweeter, gentler things;
Of home and vales of waving green
And one who waited babe on knee;
And all the cherished joys between
The trenches and my love and me;
Of all the loving hearts that yearn
Through cheerless nights and pensive days;
And all the tender eyes that burn
With dreams, the hand of war waylays;
Of those who feel the armed might,
And bear its scars their breasts within,
The meek with faces strangely white
As her who'd wait in vain for him.
In what old garden would she wait,
His golden girl with eyes of brown;
By what old fashioned trellised gate
In some old street in some old town.
No more to know the touch of hands,
Nor tender light of his wide eyes,
With all her maiden heart had planned,
A vanished dream of Paradise.
For I, on her, the thorny crown
With hands ungentle deep had pressed,
Her heart's fair garden trampled down,
And crushed its roses in her breast.
I did not hate the man I killed,
But Duty hath her stern commands;
I might have spared him had I willed,
But one on high He understands.
The morning broke, and then a lark
High in the heavens poured his lay;
I turned from phantoms of the dark
To Duty and grim war's array.