Page:War and Love.djvu/50



Not that we are weary,

Not that we fear,

Not that we are lonely

Though never alone—

Not these, not these destroy us;

But that each rush and crash

Of mortar and shell,

Each cruel bitter shriek of bullet

That tears the wind like a blade,

Each wound on the breast of earth,

Of Demeter, our Mother,

Wounds us also,

Severs and rends the fine fabric

Of the wings of our frail souls,

Scatters into dust the bright wings

Of Psyche!

Impotent,

How impotent is all this clamour,

This destruction and contest …

Night after night comes the moon

Haughty and perfect;

Night after night the Pleiades sing

And Orion swings his belt across the sky.

Night after night the frost

Crumbles the hard earth.