THE WOMEN AT THE CORNERS STAND
The women at the corners stand. They say,
"Where are the men you stole from us away?
Where are they now, the laughing lovers whom
You heaped in sombre ranks against the gloom?"
They murmur ceaselessly and without haste,
"Our arms are empty and our wombs are waste."
"Where are the men that marched into the dusk?"
They say with voices withered like a husk.
"Night is like cinders: day is lean and stern.
Our hearts are parched with thirsting; yea, we burn.
Where are the men you took? Bid them return."
The women at the corners stand. But no
Reply is heard. They wait till night. They go
Back to their homes. Once more they come next day,
"Where are the men you stole from us away?"
They draw their shawls around their heads. They wait.
They say, "But we are weary. It is late."
They murmur ceaselessly and without haste,
"Our arms are empty and our wombs are waste."
No word is said to them. But only they,
The women at the corners, stand. They say,
"Send back our lovers whom you stole away."
JOINING-UP
No, not for you the glamour of emprise,
Poor driven lad with terror in your eyes.
No dream of wounds and medals and renown
Called you like Love from your drab Northern town.
No haunting fife, dizzily shrill and sweet,
Came lilting drunkenly down your dingy street.
You will not change, with a swift catch of pride,
In the cold hut among the leers and oaths,
Out of your suit of frayed civilian clothes,
Into the blaze of khaki they provide.
Like a trapped animal you crouch and choke
In the packed carriage where the veterans smoke
And tell such pitiless tales of Over There,
They stop your heart dead short and freeze your hair.