Chapter 4
SPRING came in with a red-wing's feather And yellow clumps of the wild marshmallow-- O happy bird, can you tell me whether In distant France they have April weather? And little pools that are sunny and shallow?
My soul is awake and my pulse is racing-- My heart is aware that the birds are mating-- Oh, my heart's like a cloud that the wind is chasing O'er the earth's green blur with its silver tracing To that sad France where there's someone waiting!
O Spring! begone with your too-sweet clover And all your bees with honey to carry-- Come again when the war is over, Come, dear Spring, when you bring my lover! Yet come no more, should he tarry . . . tarry!
From the Trenches
OH, to be in Canada now that Spring is merry, Happy apple blossoms gay against the smiling green; Here the lilac's purple plume and here the pink of cherry, Hillsides just a drift of bloom with clover in between!
Oh, to be in Canada! there's a road that rambles Through a leafing maple-wood and up a windy hill, Velvet pussy-willows press soft hands amid the brambles Fringing round a sky-filled pool where cattle drink their fill.
Oh, to be in Canada! there's a farmhouse hidden Where the hollow meets the hill and Spring's first footsteps show-- Not a drop of honey there to any bee forbidden, Not a cherry on a tree but all the robins know!
Oh, to be in Canada, now that Spring is calling Sweet, so sweet it breaks the heart to let its sweetness through, Oh, to breast the windy hill while yet the dew is falling-- Waking all the meadow-larks to carol in the blue!
Smile upon us, Canada! None shall fail who love you While they hold a memory of your fields where flowers are-- High the task to keep unstained the skies that bend above you, Proud the life that shields you from the flaming wind of war!
The Reasons
THEY sat before a dugout In the unfamiliar quiet of silenced guns. And one said: "Now that it's over What about a bit of truth? Let us say why we came to fight-- No frills-- You first, old Fire-eater!"--
One with a whimsical face spoke freely; "I?--I sought some stir, Some urge in living, Some sense in dying. I sought a mountain top With a view!"
"And the answer?"
"I have seen others find What I sought."
. . . . . . .
"I don't know that it's anyone's business Why I came," (Another spoke as if unwillingly), "A girl laughed, I think-- Funny?--Yes, funny as hell!"--
. . . . . . .
His neighbor said, "I was a business man, No sentiment, Nothing of that kind,-- But the band played And, suddenly, I saw My country, A woman, with hands outstretched, Her back to the wall--"
"U--um," they nodded, "She's got a pull, That old lady."
. . . . . . .
"As for me," the speaker was abrupt, "I was afraid! I saw pictures, I heard things-- I couldn't sleep For the Beast that was abroad-- Fear! That's what brought me!"
. . . . . . .
They sat silent for a moment In the sun. Then an older man said briefly, "We were all afraid . . . . . . . . But what of hate? Did no one come because of hate?"
. . . . . . .
"Yes--I"-- They looked at this man Curiously, But he added nothing, And no one questioned.
. . . . . . .
A fresh-faced boy spoke modestly; "Our family are all Army people-- So, of course-- And it's all over now. We got through. But it was a near thing-- What?"
To-Day
TO-DAY is a room With windows upon one side And upon the other A door-- Through the windows we may look But cannot pass; Through the door we must pass But cannot look, And there are no windows Upon that side.
Memory
A YEAR is a thief Who comes in the guise of a friend Saying, "Let us travel together, We have much to give each other. See, I hold back nothing-- For what is giving Between friends?"
Yet when the year departs He takes his gifts with him-- "Oh, Robber!" we cry, Aghast and weeping, "Nay," he replies, "I did but lend. Still, for your weeping, I will leave you something.
It is not the real thing But you may keep it always."
Dream
I SEE a spirit Young and eager, Beautiful, too, I think, (Although I cannot see it clearly) It is, by right of its own being, One with all lovely, youthful things; And they, its age-old kindred, Welcome it Saying, "Come, you too are one of us!"
. . . . . . .
This spirit is my own happy ghost-- But I, myself,--alas!
Perhaps
THERE was a man, once, and a woman Whose love was so entire That an angel, watching them, Said wistfully, "Would I were no angel But a mortal, Loving so, and so beloved!" . . . . Yet, when these two mated, A muddied drop, from some forgotten vial of ancestry, Brought them a child whose mind was dark; Who lived--and never called them by their names . . . . . . . They tended her For twenty years. Only when she died Did they weep, whispering, "Why?" The years could find no answer, Though they went questioning Until the end.
. . . . . . .
Still wondering They wandered out into the other country . . . . It was lonely there, Being parted from familiar things, And there was no one to answer questions, But, suddenly, (As a wind blows or a swallow flies against the sun) Came a young girl--eager! She ran to them, Calling dear names, (Names that would open heaven) "Who are you?" they entreated, trembling . . . . But they knew!-- Had they not dreamed her so For twenty years?
Glamour
THE knowledge of love Is like sudden sun upon a river-- The slipping water Is instantly opaque and glorious. No longer can we look into it Counting the pebbles, Watching the ribboned water-reeds, Or searching idly For that something which we lost (A ring with gems) It is all glamour, now! We turn away, shading our eyes.
Friendship
I THOUGHT of friendship As a golden ring, Round as the world Yet fitted to my finger; I thought of friendship As a path in spring Where there are flowers And the footsteps linger; I thought of friendship As a globe of light, Yellow before the doorway of my life, A flame diffused Yet potent against night; I thought--but thought itself in ruin lies Since, yesterday, you passed with lowered eyes!
The Returned Man
THEY thought that he would come back Quieter, Less boyish, But still a hero with tales to tell. So, when there were no tales, Only blank silences-- When he lay for hours Staring through leafing branches And forgot them Utterly-- They tried to arouse him, saying: "The war is over." But when he turned on them His shadowed eyes They stammered-- Knowing that they lied!
Epitaph
(For the unknown soldier buried in Westminster Abbey.)
YOU who died fighting For me and my little children; You who are a million Yet are but one, I lay upon your grave A rose and a tear-- The tear is the world's sorrow, The rose is your joy.
For One Who Went in Spring
SHE did not go, as others do, With backward look and beckoning; With no farewell for anything She passed the open doorway through.
The little things she left behind Lie where they fell from hands content-- Fame a forgotten incident And life a season out of mind.
The spring will find her footstep gone, But spring is kind to vanished things, Camas and buttercups she brings With green that tears have brightened on.
And we, who walked with her last year While April in the lilacs stirred, Will turn with sudden look or word-- Forgetting that she is not here.
End of Project Gutenberg's Fires of Driftwood, by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay