| |
| THE POPLAR drops beside the way | |
| Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray; | |
| The chestnut pouts its great brown buds, impatient for the laggard May. | |
| |
| The honeysuckles lace the wall; | |
| The hyacinths grow fair and tall; | 5 |
| And mellow sun and pleasant wind and odorous bees are over all. | |
| |
| Down looking in this snow-white bud, | |
| How distant seems the war’s red flood! | |
| How far remote the streaming wounds, the sickening scent of human blood! | |
| |
| For Nature does not recognize | 10 |
| This strife that rends the earth and skies; | |
| No war-dreams vex the winter sleep of clover-heads and daisy-eyes. | |
| |
| She holds her even way the same, | |
| Though navies sink or cities flame; | |
| A snowdrop is a snowdrop still, despite the nation’s joy or shame. | 15 |
| |
| When blood her grassy altar wets, | |
| She sends the pitying violets | |
| To heal the outrage with their bloom, and cover it with soft regrets. | |
| |
| O crocuses with rain-wet eyes, | |
| O tender-lipped anemones, | 20 |
| What do ye know of agony and death and blood-won victories? | |
| |
| No shadow breaks your sunshine-trance, | |
| Though near you rolls, with slow advance, | |
| Clouding your shining leaves with dust, the anguish-laden ambulance. | |
| |
| Yonder a white encampment hums; | 25 |
| The clash of martial music comes; | |
| And now your startled stems are all a-tremble with the jar of drums. | |
| |
| Whether it lessen or increase, | |
| Or whether trumpets shout or cease, | |
| Still deep within your tranquil hearts the happy bees are murmuring “Peace!” | 30 |
| |
| O flowers! the soul that faints or grieves | |
| New comfort from your lips receives; | |
| Sweet confidence and patient faith are hidden in your healing leaves. | |
| |
| Help us to trust, still on and on, | |
| That this dark night will soon be gone, | 35 |
| And that these battle-stains are but the blood-red trouble of the dawn,— | |
| |
| Dawn of a broader, whiter day | |
| Than ever blessed us with its ray,— | |
| A dawn beneath whose purer light all guilt and wrong shall fade away. | |
| |
| Then shall our nation break its bands, | 40 |
| And, silencing the envious lands, | |
| Stand in the searching light unshamed, with spotless robes, and clean, white hands. | |
| |
