Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/220

This page has been validated.

220
INCIDENTS AND ASPECTS

And some of them they stumbled on the slippery summer grass,
And there they've left them lying with their faces to Alsace;
The others—so they'd tell you—ere the chestnut's decked for spring,
Shall march beneath some linden trees to call upon a King;
Flic flac, flic flac, to call upon a King.


THE BALLAD OF ST. BARBARA[1]
[St. Barbara is the patroness of artillery, and of those who are in fear of sudden death.]

WHEN the long grey lines came flooding upon Paris in the plain,
We stood and drank of the last free air we never could love again;
They had led us back from a lost battle, to halt we knew not where,
And stilled us; and our gaping guns were dumb with our despair.
The grey tribes flowed for ever from the infinite lifeless lands,
And a Norman to a Breton spoke, his chin upon his hands:


"There was an end to Ilium; and an end came to Rome;
And a man plays on a painted stage in the land that he calls home.
Arch after arch of triumph, but floor beyond falling floor,
That lead to a low door at last: and beyond there is no door."


The Breton to the Norman spoke, like a little child spake he,

But his sea-blue eyes were empty as his home beside the sea:
  1. Written on the anniversary of the Battle of the Marne.


Cookies help us deliver our services. By using our services, you agree to our use of cookies.