A Song of the Open Road, and Other Verses

by Louis J. McQuilland

TRUCE

SO still, so still they lie,
That neither the dew nor the sun
Can stir through the matted grasses
The men who strove by the gun.

So still, so still they lie.
An imperturbable pride
Crowns the day at its closing:
Yea; they are satisfied.

So still, so still they lie,
Stained clay on the blood-stained sod,
Sealing in placid covenant
The truce of Man and God.

ROMANCE AT REST

WHERE with shudder of surf and splash of spray
The surge to the curve of the cove advances
There lingers a memory all the day
Of his random fancies, his quaint romances.

The white waves murmur, the light winds moan,
The sea-birds call from the reef’s recesses,
With rustle of leaves strange scents are blown
From blooms half veiled by the trailers’ tresses.