THE SENTRY
The night wind hums a lullaby,
A watchful bivouac keep.
The guns are silent now awhile,
Yet, soldier, do not sleep.
Though weary with the force of night,
And weary with the war,
Sleep not, be watchful, quick alert,
Or sleep forever more.
But words are nought to tired eyes,
And what are words of praise
To minds that long to dream a bit
Of other, saner days.
He sleeps, unmindful of his oath,
And then they find him dead,
The other soldier stands his guard
Who shot him through the head.
The night wind hums a lullaby,
A watchful bivouac keep.
The guns are silent now awhile,
Yet, soldier, do not sleep!
I WATCHED HIM IN THE TOURNAMENT
I watched him in the tournament,
And when he bowled a line
I saw the way his eyes would smile
When things were going fine.
I saw the lonely little frown
That made him look so grave
And older than his twenty years
When things would not behave.
And then we did not meet again;
I heard that he was dead.
The savage sea, not you nor me,
Knows where he is instead.
SOUTH PACIFIC
How often had the sun been red
The sky as deep a blue
Behind long, tired stretched-out clouds
When I was then with you.