The stars swung round in a blood-red sky,
And the earth was red where the men reeled by.
I laughed—for I was living and strong,—
And I tossed them the line of a battle song.
May-day came in,—but the sweet o' the Spring,—
Who should know there was any such thing?
For the lovers were gone, who used to know
The English lanes where the hawthorns blow—
And the lovers from lands far over the sea,—
Ah! The watching moon only, knew where they might be.
I shook my impotent hand at the sky,
And travelled on with a battle cry.
*****
III
On a desperate night—bitter black with pain,—
My soul returned to haunt me again.
We two kept vigil till break of day,
But the moon bore witness, I did not pray.