The rich, red blood
Doth stain the fair, green grass, and daisies white
In generous flood ...
This sun-drowsed day for me is darkest night.
O! wreck of splintered wood and twisted wire,
What blind, unmeasured hatred you inspire
Because yours was the power that life to end ...
Of him, who was my friend!
This morn we lay upon the grass,
And watched the languid hours pass;
A lark, deep in the sky's blue sea,
Sang ecstasies to him and me.
And with the daisies did he play,
As on the waving grass we lay,
And made a little daisy chain
To bring his childhood back again.
And while he watched the clouds above
He drifted into thoughts of love.
He said, "I know why skylarks sing -
Because they love, and it is Spring.
And if I had a voice as they,
So would I sing this golden May,
Because I love, and loved am I,
And when I wander through the sky,
I wish I had a skylark's voice,
And with such singing could rejoice.
Oh, happy, happy, are these days!
My heart is full of deep-felt praise,
And thanks to God who brings this bliss!
Oh! what a happiness is this -
To lie upon the grass and know
In two short days that I shall go
And see my Love's fair face again,
And wander in some flowery lane,
Forgetting all the world around,
And only knowing I have found
A Spring enchantment, which is mine
Through God's sweet sympathy divine, ...
May these two days now swiftly pass!"
He laughed upon the sunlit grass.
The days have passed, but passed, alas! how slow!
See down the road a sad procession go!
Oh! hear the wailing music moan!
Why? Why such grief am I to know?
Dear God! I wish I were alone.
For by the grave a girl with streaming eyes
Doth make mine dim.
While high among the sunny springtime skies,
The larks still hymn.
France, 1917.