Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/409

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Oh, not like lonely ghosts in mist

Her boys come from the night and rain,

But to be clasped, but to be kissed,

And not go out again. Katharine Tynan

HE king have called the Devon lads and they be answering fine—

But the shadows seem to bide this way, for all the sun do shine,

For there's Squire's son have gone for one, and Parson's son—and mine.

I mind the day mine went from me—the skies was all aglow—

The cows deep in our little lane was comin' home so slow—

"And don't ee never grieve yourself," he said, "because I go."

His arms were strong around me, then. He turned and went away—

I heard the little childer dear a-singin' at their play,

The meanin' of an aching heart is hid from such as they.

And scarce a day goes by but now I set my door ajar,

And watch the road that Jan went up the time he went to war,

That when he'll come again to me I'll see him from afar.

And in my chimney seat o' nights, when quiet grows the farm,

I pray the Lord he be not cold whiles I have fire to warm—

And give the mothers humble hearts whose boys are kept from harm.