Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/222

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"Her father had sailed across the sea from the harbour of Africa,

When all the slaves took up their tools for the bidding of Barbara;

She smote the bare wall with her hand, and bade them smite again,

She poured them wealth of wine and meat to stay them in their pain,

And cried through the lifted thunder of thronging hammer and hod:

'Throw open the third window in the third name of God!'

Then the hearts failed and the tools fell; and far towards the foam

Men saw a shadow on the sands; and her father coming home."

Speak low and low, along the line the whispered word is flying,

Before the touch, before the time, we may not lose a breath.

Their guns must mash us to the mire and there be no replying

Till the hand is raised to fling us for the final dice to Death.

There were two windows in your tower, Barbara, Barbara,

For all between the sun and moon in the lands of Africa

Hath a man three eyes, Barbara, a bird three wings,

That you have riven roof and wall to look upon vain things?'

Her voice was like a wandering thing that falters, yet is free,

Whose soul has drunk in a distant land of the rivers of liberty.

'There are more wings than the wind knows, or eyes than see the sun,

In the light of the lost window and the wind of the doors undone;