F. S. Flint. War-time. Harriet Monroe, ed. Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912-22

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22.

War-time

By F. S. Flint


From “In London” IF I go out of the door,
It will not be
To take the road to the left that leads
Past the bovine quiet of houses
Brooding over the cud of their daily content,	5
Even though
The tranquility of their gardens
Is a lure that once was stronger;
Even though
From privet hedge and mottled laurel	10
The young green peeps,
And the daffodils
And the yellow and white and purple crocuses
Laugh from the smooth mould
Of the garden beds	15
To the upright golden buds of the chestnut trees.
I shall not see
The almond blossom shaming
The soot-black boughs.

But to the right the road will lead me	20
To greater and greater disquiet;
Into the swift rattling noise of the motor-’busses,
And the dust, the tattered paper—
The detritus of a city—
That swirls in the air behind them.	25
I will pass the shops where the prices
Are judged day by day by the people,
And come to the place where five roads meet
With five tram-routes,
And where amid the din	30
Of the vans, the lorries, the motor-’busses,
The clangorous tram-cars,
The news is shouted,
And soldiers gather, off-duty.

Here I can feel the heat of Europe’s fever;	35
And I can make,
As each man makes the beauty of the woman he loves,
No spring and no woman’s beauty,
While that is burning.