Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 6 (April-September 1915).djvu/22

POETRY: A Magazine of Verse "Seigneur!—le créateur du ciel et de la terre!— Forgotten me, forgotten me!" And then the voice grew weak, The brother leaned to ease the huddled body. But a shriek Repulsed him: "Non! Détache-moi! I don't care For you. Non! Tu es l'homme qui m'a trahi! Non! Tu n'es pas mon frère!"


 * But as often as that mind would fill

With the great anguish and the rush of hate, The boy, his young eyes older, older, Would curve his shoulder To the other's pain, and bind Their hearts again, and say: "Oh, wait! You'll know me better by and by. Mon pauvre petit, be still— Right here's your place."


 * The seeing gleam, the blinded stare,

The cry: "Non, tu n'es pas mon frère!"


 * I saw myself, myself, as blind

As he. For something smothers My reason. And I do not know my brothers But every day declare: "Non, tu n'es pas mon frère!"