‘I cannot quite remember…. There were fiveDropt dead beside me in the trench—and threeWhispered their dying messages to me….’Back from the trenches, more dead than alive,Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a broken knee,He hobbled slowly, muttering vacantly:‘I cannot quite remember…. There were fiveDropt dead beside me in the trench, and threeWhispered their dying messages to…
The wizened old woman,And wished me good luck-And again I was dreaming,A boy in the sunshine,And life but an orchardOf cherries to pluck.
Though, now and again, a wayfairing friendWalked shoulder to shoulder, and lightened the load,I often would think to myself as I strode,No comrade will journey with you to the end.And it seemed to me, as the days went past,And I gossiped with cronies, or brooded alone,By wayside fires, that my fortune was castTo sojourn by…
All day he wanders on the shore,And hearkens to the swishing foam.Though blind from birth, he still could rowAs well as any lad with sight;And knew strange things that none may knowSave those who live without the light.When they put out that Summer eveTo sink the lobster-pots at sea,The sun was crimson in the sky;And…
Upon that deep-sea Isle–As soon as chisel touched the stone,The friendly seals would come ashore;And sit and watch us all the while,As though they’d not seen men before;And so, poor beasts, had never knownMen had the heart to do them harm.They’d little cause to feel alarmWith us, for we were glad to findSome friendliness in…
Than I can lift my heavy head:And when it swings, the whole world shifts,Or so, at least, it seems to me,As, day and night, adream I lieUpon my crippled back in bed,And watch it against the sky.My mother, hunching in her chair,Day-long, and stitching trousers there–At three-and-three the dozen pair . . .She’d sit all…
Walked shoulder to shoulder, and lightened the load,I often would think to myself as I strode,No comrade will journey with you to the end.And it seemed to me, as the days went past,And I gossiped with cronies, or brooded alone,By wayside fires, that my fortune was castTo sojourn by other men’s hearths to the last,And…
And will you cut a stone for him–A stone for him?’ she said.Three days before, a splintered rockHad struck her lover dead–Had struck him in the quarry dead,Where, careless of a warning call,He loitered, while the shot was fired–A lively stripling, brave and tall,And sure of all his heart desired . . .A flash, a…
