PRELUDE
Out of the west when the sun was dying
Clouds of white wings came flying, flying,
Wheeling and whirling they swept away
Into the heart of the eastern gray;
But one white dove came straight to my breast
Out of the west.
Into the west when the dawn was pearly
Clouds of white wings went, dewy-early,
Straight from the world of the waning stars;
O beating pinions! O prison bars!
My dove flies free no more with the rest
Into the west.
AT THE SOUND OF THE DRUM
Are you going for a soldier with your curly yellow hair,
And a scarlet coat instead of the smock you used to wear?
Are you going to drive the foe as you used to drive the plough?
Are you going for a soldier now?
I am going for a soldier, and my tunic is of red
And I’m tired of woman’s chatter, and I’ll hear the drum instead;
I will break the fighting line as you broke your plighted vow,
For I’m going for a soldier now.
For a soldier, for a soldier are you sure that you will go,
To hear the drums a-beating and to hear the bugles blow?
I’ll make you sweeter music, for I’ll swear another vow—
Are you going for a soldier now?
I am going for a soldier if you’d twenty vows to make;
You must get another sweetheart, with another heart to break,
For I’m sick of lies and women and the harrow and the plough,
And I’m going for a soldier now!