Let us all work hard for them—
For such as live and come to us once more;
To those that do not come. Ah! for those men—
Passionate love and honor, evermore!
WORLD FLOWER
ON the Stem of the World
A flower hangs blighted,
Flower that plighted
Its scarlet, uncurled,
To Pageant of Kings
And war-garlandings
And banners unfurled.
On the Stalk of the World
That flower hangs broken,
Gold pollen-token,
Nothingward hurled,
Withered its fineness
Its perfumed divineness,
Petals far whirled!
On the Branch of the World,
Bud of tomorrow,
Watered by sorrow,
Holds, all impearled,
Blossom increase,
Petals of peace
In sunlight whorled.
Ye, who walk doubting,
Care for this Flower!
Not yet its hour,
In all the shouting....
Only, soft hid in the stamens, is lying
Pollen of souls that dared all the dying.
They gave the seed. Wet from our crying
Blooms the New World.
EPOCH, 1914
MORNING broke on Fécamp shore.
The sun rose from the sea.
Along the stone digue, wooden shoes
Clattered busily,
And one glad, little Norman voice
Carolled, “Sans Souci.”
“No care! no care! Tra-lal-la-la!”
The child’s glad voice sang on;
A red-capped figure crossed the digue
To where the great boats swung
At peaceful anchor, with their nets
Spread azure in the sun.
Evening came to the little town
Where white cliffs wall the sea.
A dark bell rang, “To arms! To arms!”
The women on the quay
Choked back the tears, when Jean and Pierre
Marched forth gallantly.
And then no lift of little voice
Singing, “Sans Souci.”
“Black care, Black care for home and hearth!”
For children needing bread!
Oh! the men’s faces! Oh! their eyes,
That would be cold and dead
Ere the new moon, all pitiless
And smiling at her dreams,
Took her strange way of battlefields
And bloody battle-streams.