Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/408

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The reverent moonlight lays a veil

On hair grown silver 'neath her ray

And waits. . . Outside, the moaning trees

Are hung like harps in branching night,

Swept by the fingers of the breeze.

The wind, the Moon, and Memory. ..

Slow tears, and grief, and Life and Death. ..

'Mid that great company, asleep

The children lie in marble peace,

Unknowing who the vigil keep.

And always down the quiet road

''A soundless tramp of ghostly feet. . .''

''Remembered, half-dreamt battle cry. . .''

While past the house, beneath the trees

Dim regiments of shades march by. G. O. Warren

ER boys are not shut out. They come

Homing like pigeons to her door,

Sure of her tender welcome home,

As many a time before.

Their bed is made so smooth and sweet,

The fire is lit—the table spread;

She has poured water for their feet,

That they be comforted.

As with a fluttering of wings

They are come home, come home to stay;

With all the bitter dreadful things

Forgot, clean washed away.

They are so glad to stay, so glad

They nestle to her gown's soft flow,

As in the loving times they had,

Long ago, long ago.