Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
Post Annos
By James Branch Cabell
Yolande dit, en soupirant:

  “It is long since we met,” she said.
I answered, “Yes.”
            She is not fair,
But very old now, and no gold
Gleams in that scant, gray, withered hair
Where once much gold was; and, I think,        5
Not easily might one bring tears
Into her eyes, which have become
Like dusty glass.
            “’Tis thirty years,”
I said. “And then the war came on
Apace; and our young king had need        10
Of men to serve him oversea,
Against the heathen. For their greed,
Puffed up at Tunis, irks him sore.”
She said, “This week my son is gone
To him at Paris with his men.”        15
And then, “You never married, John?”
I answered, “No.” And so we sate
Musing a while.
            Then with his guests
Came Robert; and his thin voice broke
Upon my dream, with the old jests—        20
No food for laughter now; and swore
We must be friends now that our feud
Was overpast.
            “We are grown old—
Eh, John?” he said. “And, by the Rood!
’Tis time we were at peace with God,        25
Who are not long for this world.”
I answered; “we are old.” And then,
Remembering that April day
At Calais, and that hawthorn field
Wherein we fought long since, I said,        30
“We are friends now.”
                And she sate by,
Scarce heeding. Thus the evening sped.
And we ride homeward now, and I
Ride moodily: my palfrey jogs
Along a rock-strewn way the moon        35
Lights up for us; yonder the bogs
Are curdled with thin ice; the trees
Are naked; from the barren wold
The wind comes like a blade aslant
Across a world grown very old.        40

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