Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 7 (October 1915-March 1916).djvu/43



Brother, whence comest thou? From beyond Dunai? What heardest thou in Ukraine?

Nothing have I heard, Nothing have I seen But horsemen on four sides. The Russians have covered the mountain. On that mountain a Turkish horse stands; On the horse sits a Turk's young son. In his right hand he holds a sword; From his left blood flows.

On that hill a crow is calling And a mother cries over her soldier son. "Don't cry, mother, do not grieve; I am wounded, but not badly. My head, in four pieces; my heart, in six; My white hands in three pieces, My white fingers in pieces, My white body is as fine as poppy-seed.

"Look for a doctor, mother— The doctor, the young carpenter.