Are we fighters?......By our fellows we are fanged.
Are we workers?......Paid with blows we never earned.
Are we doctors?......Other doctors see us hanged.
Are we teachers?......Brother teachers have us burned.
But through all a Something somehow holds us fast
'Spite of every beast-hung brake and steaming fen;
And we keep the torch on high till a comrade presses by
When we pass it on and die—and live again!
A LITTLE BOOK OF LOCAL VERSE
Author of "The Masque of Marsh and River."
Copyright, 1915, by the Author. Pages 13-14.
When shall we together
Tramp beneath the sky,
Thrusting through the weather
As swimmers strive together,
You and I?
How we ranged the valleys,
Panted up the road,
Sang in sudden sallies
Of mirth that woke the valleys
Where we strode!
Glad and free as birds are,
Laughter in your eyes,
Wild as poets' words are,
You were as the birds are,
Very wise.
Not for you the prison
Of the stupid town;
When the winds were risen,
You went forth from prison,
You went down,
Down along the river
Dimpling in the rain,
Where the poplars shiver
By the dancing river,
And again
Climbed the hills behind you
When the rains were done;
Only God could find you
With the town behind you
In the sun!
Don't you hear them calling,
Blackbirds in the grain,
Silver raindrops falling
Where the larks are calling
You in vain?