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Let me wait, my dear,
One more day,
Let me linger near,
Let me stay.
Do not bar the gate of draw the blind
Or lock the door that yields,
Dear, be kind!
I have only you beneath the skies
To rest my eyes
From the cruel green of the fields
And the cold, white seas
And the weary hills
And the naked trees.
I have known the hundred ills
Of the hated wars.
Do not close the bars,
Or draw the blind.
I have only you beneath the stars:
Dear, be kind!
This poem is in the public domain.
I
I should like to imagine
A moonlight in which there would be no machine-guns!
The old houses of Flanders,
They watch by the high cathedrals;
They overtop the high town-halls;
They have eyes, mournful, tolerant and sardonic, for the ways of men
In the high, white, tiled gables.
The rain and the night have settled down on Flanders;
It is all wet darkness; you can see nothing.
Oh quiet peoples sleeping bed by bed
Beneath grey roof-trees in the glimmering West,
We who can see the silver grey and red
Rise over No Man’s Land—salute your rest.