Chapter 5

Because you were so much a part of living, Like sunshine and the freshness of the air, The priceless gift of faith that you were giving Seemed small to me. Scarce knowing you were there I took your heart-strings in my careless fingers, And played a song as light as summer dew, And yet, today, its wistful echo lingers And fills an empty world with thoughts of you.

I did not think that I would ever miss you, I did not dream the time would come to be When I would long to touch your hand, to kiss you-- To hear your voice say tender words to me. I did not know that I would wonder whether My head would rest, once more, against your heart.... War came, my dear, and drew us close together, Although it swept us many miles apart!

WHEN YOU WENT BY

I stood in the rain and watched you pass, I stood in the blinding rain.... And I thought of a fragrant summer night, When the room was glowing with candlelight, And a shower beat on the window glass With a wonderful, low refrain. I thought of your arms that held me tight, And your eyes that were near and warmly bright; I thought of--all, as I watched you pass, And my soul was wrung with pain.

"Tramp, tramp, tramp!" rang your column's tread. "Tramp, tramp, tramp!" through the street. (Ah, dear, it was summer once, and there Were flower scents on the misty air-- Honeysuckle and mignonette, poignantly, sadly sweet!) "Tramp, tramp, tramp!" rang your column's tread, And my eyes were dim as I bowed my head; And my heart seemed broken and old and dead, Under your marching feet.

I stood in the rain and watched you pass-- There in the autumn rain.... And I thought, my dear, of the night when you Had kissed me first. (Ah, your eyes were blue, And very tender, and Heaven-true, There in the candlelight!) I thought of a misty summer night, When a shower fell on the vivid grass (There, through the rain, I watched you pass!) I thought of a mystic summer night That never may come again.

"TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP!" RANG YOUR COLUMN'S TREAD, "TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP!" IN THE STREET; AND I TRIED TO SMILE--WITH A LIFTED HEAD-- BUT MY HEART LAY, CRUSHED, AT YOUR FEET!

IN MEMORIAM

To an American Aviator

He went to battle in the mist-hung sky, Like some gold-hearted bird with pinions strong; He went with courage, with a snatch of song, In all his splendid youth! And God on high Looked down with love to watch him dip and fly, Then lifted him to where the brave belong. He went to right a bleeding nation's wrong, And proved that he was not afraid to die!

So we, who stare across the lonely hours, Must only think of that great gift he gave; Must think of other lives that his will save; And know that, when the tender, healing showers Have fallen in a stranger-land, the flowers Will bloom, like prayers, upon a hero's grave!

A PEASANT GIRL SINGS

Somewhere, Out There, he is--just a boy, that's all-- (Laughter sparkled in his eyes--he was always singing!) Just a boy who answered when he heard his country's call; (Somewhere, Out There, he is--how my thoughts go winging--) Ready to do or dare, (Like sunlight was his hair,) Just a boy, a laughing boy, Somewhere, Out There.

Idle my wheel, to-day, hushed is it's spinning-- (Ah, but his eyes were blue--blue as the sea--) Somewhere, Out There, he is... Losing--or winning! (Boy with the carefree heart, come back to me!) Blood red the cannon's flare, (God, can you hear my prayer?) Keep him, my boy, from harm-- Somewhere, Out There.

TOGETHER

THEY LAY TOGETHER IN THE SUN AND WAITED FOR THE END; SIDE BY SIDE, TOGETHER, BEARDED FOE AND FRIEND; JEAN FROM THE PLEASANT FIELDS OF SINGING, SOUTHERN FRANCE, JEAN FROM THE POPPY FIELDS SIGHING WITH ROMANCE; FRITZ FROM A FATHERLAND HE BLINDLY LOVED AND SERVED, FRITZ WHOSE SOFT-NOSED BULLETS HAD NEVER FLINCHED NOR SWERVED; AND PETER, WHOSE TIRED EYES WERE WIDE AND DEEP AND BROWN, PETER FROM DELANCEY STREET, IN NEW YORK TOWN.

They didn't speak, these three, They didn't know each other's tongue; And, then, When men Whose songs are nearly sung Are lying side by side, Their breathing not so... free, The gulf is rather wide.

In the sun they lay there; And Fritz's hair Was very bright. He was a foe To kill on sight-- And yet the light Upon his hair was so, So very fair....

Jean found himself remembering HER hair; Of palest gold it was, a magic snare To net men's soul in! She had bade him go, Sobbing, "Je t'aime"--which means, "I love you so!" Her hair--her hands--her lips, Red as a sunset cloud when daytime slips Into the night. No, redder! Like a flower That blooms upon the earth for just an hour; A poppy flower, fragile, soft.... HER LIPS Red as the heart-blood of a man, that drips Into eternity.... Jean sighed, And died.

PERHAPS HER LIPS WERE VERY NEAR--WHO KNOWS? WHEN EYES MUST CLOSE AGAINST THE SUN, AND LIFE, WHO CARES? ONE ONLY DARES TO WONDER!

Fritz lay still. He felt the strength, the faith, the stubborn will, Drop from him like worn garments, till he lay Half-frightened in the burning light of day. He had killed many, yes.... From under His tunic, gropingly, he drew a cross; He wondered would it make, for her, the loss A little less? Ah, to press His bearded lips once more upon her cheek, To hear her speak....

Yes, he had killed, and killed-- And he had thrilled To do it.... But just to sit Beside her, in the shade, THAT had been paradise! Her soft arms laid About his throat.... THEY STRANGLED HIM-- His eyes grew dim.... He choked--once... twice....

Peter from Delancey Street, laughed with white- lipped pluck. "Dyin' side o' HIM!" he coughed. "Ain't it rotten luck! "Poor guy, they got him, though--got him same as me...." Peter, from Delancey Street, stopped talking suddenly.

He saw-- A candy store, On the busy, smelly corner of a crowded city slum; He heard the hum Of traffic in the street, The sound of feet Upon the pavement; and he saw, Behind the counter there, THE GIRL. She wore Her hair Plastered tight to her little shell-like ears. He felt her tears Upon his face The night he told her that he'd left his place, His steady paying job, to go and fight.

"Good night!" He'd said to her. "Somebody's gotta go! Yerself, you know, We gotta STIR T'lick them fellers Over There!" Her slicked-back hair Had roughened up against his khaki sleeve, And she had cried: "Dear, MUST you leave?" And he had dried Her eyes, and smudged the powder on her nose....

"Here goes!" Said Peter of Delancey Street. He saw A candy store-- A city slum, a girl with plastered hair, Who waited there....

THEY LAY TOGETHER IN THE SUN--BRAVELY TO THE END, SIDE BY SIDE, TOGETHER, BEARDED FOE AND FRIEND. JEAN FROM THE POPPY FIELDS, SIGHING WITH ROMANCE, JEAN FROM THE LAUGHTER-LILTING FIELDS OF SOUTHERN FRANCE; FRITZ FROM A FATHERLAND HE BLINDLY LOVED AND SERVED, FRITZ, WHOSE FAITH, ALTHOUGH BETRAYED, HAD NEVER FLINCHED OR SWERVED; AND PETER, WHOSE TIRED EYES WERE QUESTIONING AND BROWN, PETER, FROM DELANCEY STREET, IN NEW YORK TOWN.

JIM-DOG

He wasn't, well, a fancy kind o' dog-- Not Jim! But, oh, I sorter couldn't seem ter help A-lovin' him. He always seemed ter understand. He'd rub his nose against my hand If I was feelin' blue or sad. Or if my thoughts was pretty bad; An' how he'd bark an' frisk an' play When I was gay!

A soldier's dog don't have much time ter whine Like little pets a-howlin' at th' moon. A soldier's dog is bound ter learn, right soon, That war is war, an' what a steady line Of men in khaki means. (What, dogs don't know? You bet they do! Jim-dog, he had ter go Along th' trenches oftentimes at night; He seemed ter sense it when there was a fight A-brewin'. Oh, I guess he knew, all right!) I was a soldier, an' Jim-dog was MINE.

Ah, what's the use? There never was another dog like him. Why, on th' march I'd pause an' call--"Hey, Jim!" An' he'd be there, his head tipped on one side, A-lookin' up at me with love an' pride, His tail a-waggin', an' his ears raised high....

I wonder why my Jim-dog had ter die? He was a friend ter folks; he didn't bite; He never snapped at no one in th' night; He didn't hate a soul; an' he was GAME! An' yet... a spark o' light, a dartin' flame Across th' dark, a sneaky bit o' lead, An' he was... dead!

They say there ain't no heaven-land for him, 'Cause dogs is dogs, an' haven't any right; But let me tell yer this; without my Jim Th' very shinin' streets would seem less bright! An' somehow I'm a-thinkin' that if he Could come at that last stirrin' bugle call Up to th' gates o' gold aside of me, Where God stands smilin' welcome to us all, An' I said, "Father, here's my dog... here's Jim," They'd find some corner, touched with love, fer him!

SIX SONNETS

I. SOMEHOW

Somehow I never thought that you would go, Not even when red war swept through the land-- I somehow thought, because I loved you so, That you would stay. I did not understand That something stronger than my love could come, To draw you, half-reluctant, from my heart; I never thought the call of fife and drum Would rend our cloak of happiness apart!

And yet, you went... And I--I did not weep-- I smiled, instead, and brushed the tears aside. And yet, when night-time comes, I cannot sleep But silent lie, while longing fights with pride-- YOU ARE MY MAN, THE FOE YOU FIGHT MY FOE, AND YET--I NEVER THOUGHT THAT YOU WOULD GO!

II. I WONDER

I wonder if you dream, across the night, When watchfires cut the vivid dark in twain, Of long dim rooms, and yellow candlelight, And gardens drenched in vaguely perfumed rain? I wonder if you think, when shot and shell And molten fire are singing songs of hate, Of that last throbbing moment of farewell When, in your arms, I promised you to wait!

I wonder, should grim death reach out his hand, And speak, above the strife, of peace and rest; If you, alone in that dark stranger land, Would feel again my head upon your breast? And if, as light and love and living slips, Your prayer would be my kiss upon your lips....

III. SOME DAY

Some day when on exultant feet you come Back through the streets that echo at your tread-- My soul will thrill to hear the throbbing drum, And yet, perhaps, I'll sit with drooping head, Not caring, quite, to meet your steady gaze, Not daring, quite, to look into your eyes; Afraid because a weary stretch of days, Each one a million years, between us lies.

My heart--my heart is ever yours to hold, And yet, while I have waited here for you, You have seen faith betrayed, and brave youth sold, You have seen meadows drenched in bloody dew-- It may have changed you, and your eyes may be A little harder when they look at me!

IV. DREAM

Sometimes I dream that you are back with me, And that with hands together clasped we go Like little children, young and glad and free, A-down a magic road we used to know. Sometimes I dream your eyes upon my face, And feel your fingers softly touch my hair.... And when I wake from dreaming all the place, Seems lonelier because you are not there.

What is a dream? Not very much, they say, An idle vision made in castled Spain-- Well, maybe they are right.... And yet, today, When all the warring world was swept with pain, The suffering and sorrow ceased to be, Because I dreamed that you were back with me!

V. UNDERSTANDING

Now, when I stand in some great crowded place, I see the souls of other women stare Out of their eyes--And I can glimpse the care And worry that has banished light and grace From every life. Upon each woman-face I see the mark of tears, the hint of prayer That, one short year ago, had not been there-- I see what time will never quite erase!

Before you left, I did not notice eyes-- Because I knew that I might touch your hand, I did not dream the dread that swept our land... Ah, dear, the months have made me very wise! Now, one with everything, I understand, And heart meets heart and I can sympathize.

VI. THE WAKING

Now war is over and a world set free, And youth returns, triumphant, to our land-- And dear-heart, you'll be coming back to me, With eager lips, and tender outstretched hand! You will be coming as you came of old, At evening time, with laughter lilting gay; Glad of the little things that life may hold-- And I will meet you in the self same way....

Yes, in the shadows by my oaken door, I will be waiting as I used to wait-- And I will feel that you are come, before I hear the clicking of the garden gate. And, in the darkness there, my pulse will leap, Reviving dreams that long have lain asleep!

AFTER PEACE

"I wonder what they're doin' home tonight?" Jim said-- We sat there, in the yellow firelight, There, in a house in France-- Some of us, maybe thinkin' of romance-- Some of us missin' buddies who was dead-- And some just dreamin' Sorter hardly seemin' Ter make th' dream come clear.

An' then--Jim spoke-- "I wonder what they're doin' home ternight?" Says Jim-- An' some of us felt, well--as if we'd like Ter smother him! An' some of us tried hard-like not ter choke, Th' smoke Was pretty thick an' black! A-thinkin' back, Across th' ocean I could sort of see A little house that means just all ter me And, though nobody said a word I knew Their thoughts was goin' on th' self-same track-- Thoughts do Out here, in France.

Home--HOME--No wonder that we all was still-- For one of us was thinkin' of a hill, With pine trees on it black against th' moon-- And one of us was dreaming of a town, All drab an' brown-- An' one of us was lookin'--far an' high Ter some one who had gone back home too soon To that real home that is beyond the sky.

Nobody of us spoke fer quite a while-- We didn't smile-- We just sat still an' wondered when there'd be An order for ter send us home-- Back 'crost the sea. Th' war was won-- An' we was DONE! We wanted faces that we loved an' knew, An' voices too--

We sat an' watched th' dancin' fire fling Its shadders on th' floor-- Bright shapes, an' dim. An' then Jim coughed as if his throat was sore, An'--"Say--let's sing!" Says Jim.

FROM THE DECK OF A TRANSPORT

(A Returning Soldier Speaks)

I am coming back with a singing soul through the surge of the splendid sea, Coming back to the land called home, and the love that used to be-- I am coming back through a flash of spray, through a conquered tempest's hum, I am coming back, I am coming back.... But, God, do I want to come?

I have heard the shriek of the great shells speak to the dawn of a flaming day; And a growling gun when the fight was won, and the twilight flickered gray, I have seen men die with their chins raised high, and a curse that was half a prayer-- I have fought alone when a comrade's groan was tense on the blinding air.

I have tramped a road when a burning load was strapped to my aching back, Through miles of mud that was streaked with blood, when my closing eyes turned back-- I have cried aloud to a heedless crowd of a God that they could not know, And have knelt at night when the way was bright with a rocket's sullen glow.

I am going home through the whirling foam--home to her arms stretched wide-- I am going back to the beaten track and the sheltered fireside, With gasping breath I have sneered at death, and have mocked at a shell's swift shirr, And safe again, through the years of pain, I am going back--to HER!

I am coming back with a singing soul through the surge of the splendid sea, Coming back--BUT MY SINGING SOUL WILL NEVER BE QUITE FREE-- For I have killed, and my heart has thrilled to the call of the battle hum.... I am coming back to the used-to-be--But, God, do I want to come?

TIM--MY BUNKIE

I met Tim th' other day On Broadway; Hadn't seem him since he fell, Covered like with streaks of blood, In th' Argonne's battle hell.

Tim an' me was bunkies; we Marched together Through th' water an' th' slime-- SUNNY FRANCE, HEY? We seen weather That we hadn't dreamed COULD be Anywhere or any time. We had fought--well, hand to hand, Over miles o' broken land, Through th' Vesle, an' by th' Aisne, When th' shrapnel fell like rain-- Tim an' me was bunkies--see?

Smilin' sort o' cuss was Tim; Never seen th' beat o' him! He could whistle when a pack Was like lead upon his back; He could smile with blistered feet; Never swore at monkey meat, Or at cooties, or th' drill; Always laughin'--never still-- That was Tim!

Say, th' fellers loved that boy! Chaplain said that he "was joy All incarnate--" Sounds all right, But th' men said he was WHITE, That meant most to us, I'd say! Why, we never seen th' day When he wouldn't help a guy. If he had a franc he'd buy Chocolate or chow for us, Gen'rus little smilin' cuss-- That was Tim!

When THEY got him, I can see Even now, th' way he slipped To th' ground beside o' me. Red blood dripped From his tunic an' his chin, But he choked out, "Fellers, win! "Me, I don't much matter, GRIN!"

Sure we had ter leave him lay; War is always that-a-way; An' we thought o'course he'd die. Maybe that's the reason why We could fight th' way we did; Why we found th' guns THEY hid; Why we broke their line in two, Whistlin' a tune HE knew All th' time we pushed 'em back, Crowdin' on 'em whack fer whack!

I seen Tim th' other day On Broadway; He had lef' one arm in France, But his eyes was all a-dance When he seen me face t' face. "Say," he shouts, "ain't this SOME place? Ain't it great th' war is through? Glad I seen it, though; ain't you?"

Smilin' sort o' little cuss, Meetin' me without a fuss-- Tim, my bunkie, livin'!... Tim! That's him!

A PRAYER FOR OUR BOYS RETURNING

God, bring them back just as they went away; A little wiser, maybe, but unchanged In all the vital things--let them today Take up the lives that war has disarranged. Let them renew the youth they laid aside To fight their battles in the world of men, God, bring to life their little dreams that died, And build their altars new again, and then--

Give them the vivid youth that they have sought for Through bloody mists on bloody fields of strife; Show them the gallant truth that they have fought for; Show them, anew, the better things of life. God of the hosts, blot out the months of pain-- And let them have their boyhood back again. AMEN.

PARIS

I. AFTER PEACE

The city thrills once more to joyous singing; Glad laughter sounds again upon the street, And music throbs again, until young feet Trip merrily upon their way; the ringing Of hour chimes are gallant voices, flinging Their challenges through each crowded space, to greet Old friends who linger where they used to meet With other friends long gone.... The summer, bringing

The light of peace, has seemed to fill the city, With happiness that echoes far and wide In sounds of joy; there seems no room for sorrow-- Yet, like a minor chord submersed in pity, There steals above the music of tomorrow, The weary footsteps of the ones who died.

II. THE RUE DE LA PAIX--(A STREET OF JEWELS)

The windows glow with many jewels, with rubies fire-entangled, And glowing bits of emerald, and diamonds like the dew-- But, Paris, can you quite forget the bodies lying mangled Beneath the snow on Flanders fields--your lost who call to you?).

The windows of each little shop are gay with gem- like laughter, With rings to fit milady's hand, and drops to deck her ear; (But, Paris, can you quite forget Verdun, and Ypres, and--after? And, far beneath the sounds of mirth, one wonders what you hear.)

The windows glow with countless jewels, the shop- girls stop to wonder, The little shopgirls who are still, so many, dressed in black-- (But, oh, the saddened hearts of them no doubt are lying under Some sandy stretch along the Marne, where grim defeat turned back!)

The windows gleam enticingly, and eyes light up to see them, For Paris thrills to loveliness, as Paris always thrilled-- (Oh, God of beauty, touch the lives that war has crushed, and free them From broken dreams, an empty faith, and hopes forever stilled!)

III. THE FLOWER WAGONS

Violets and mignonette, crowded close together, Crowded close together on the corner of each street, Through the chilling dampness of the misty weather, Violets and mignonette--ah, so close together-- Making all the Paris day colorful and sweet!

Roses faintly touched with pink; see, a soldier lingers Close beside the flower-stand, dreaming of the day When she broke a single bud with her slender fingers, Pressed it to her wistful mouth--see, a soldier lingers Dreaming of a summertime very far away.

Lilacs white and pure and new, fragrant as the morning-- One pale widow, passing by, pauses for a space, Thinking of the lilac tree that once grew, adorning All a little cottage home, in life's fragrant morning; Of a lilac tree that grew in a garden place.