Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/187

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REFLECTIONS

BOIS-ÉTOILÉ

WHAT legend of a star that fell
In falchion flight from heavenly flame
Brought to some poet-peasant's mind
The haunting sweetness of thy name?


War marked thee in thy sylvan sleep—
A spoil too pure for Hell to spare—
Seamed earth, stark, splintered trunks, proclaim
That Bois-Étoilé once was fair.


O wrecked and ravaged Wood of Stars!
The lights that named thee have not set!
In lovelier groves than even thine
France forges victory from them yet!


O green place on a glorious earth,
Thine, too, the martyr's meed shall be;
With Rheims and Ypres, there shall be found
A space on History's page for thee.


Nor shalt thou lose thine olden trick—
The winds of Peace thy leaves shall stir;
(Unbudded Aprils yearn, adream,
To keep dead springtides' trysts with her!).


GOING TO THE FRONT

I HAD no heart to march for war
When trees were bare and fell the snow;
To go to-day is easier far
When pink and white the orchards blow,
While cuckoo calls and from the lilac bush
Carols at peace the well-contented thrush.


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