The midnight sky is clear as glass,
The stars hang frozen on the town,
I watch the dying people pass,
And I wrap me warm in my gown.
Brussels, 1919
XVIII
Chords, tremendous chords,
Over the stricken plain,
The night is calling her ancient lords
Back to their own again.
Vast, unhappy song,
From incalculable space,
Calling the heavy-browed, the strong,
Out of their resting-place.
Far from the lighted town,
Over the snow and ice,
Their dreadful feet go up and down
Seeking a sacrifice.
And can you find a way
Where They will not come after?
The vast chords hesitate and sway
Into a sudden laughter.
Sheffield, 1917
XIX
I have known the lure of cities and the bright gleam of golden things, Spires, towers, bridges, rivers, and the crowd that flows as a river, Lights in the midnight streets under the rain, and the stings Of joys that make the spirit reel and shiver.