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One long, sweet kiss pressed close upon my lips,
One moment's rest on your swift-beating heart,
And all was over, for the hour had come
For us to part.
A sudden forward motion of the train,
The world grown dark although the sun still shone,
One last blurred look through aching tear-dimmed eyes—
And you were gone.
This poem is in the public domain.
Night Duty, December 1917
Through the night-watches of our House of Sighs
In capable serenity of mind
You steadily achieve the tasks designed
With calm, half-smiling, interested eyes;
Though all-unknowing, confidently wise
Concerning pain you never felt, you find
Content from uneventful years arise
As you toil on, mechanically kind.
(In Memory of July 1, 1916)
Your battle-wounds are scars upon my heart,
Received when in that grand and tragic “show”
You played your part
Two years ago,
("Died of Wounds")
Because you died, I shall not rest again,
But wander ever through the lone world wide,
Seeking the shadow of a dream grown vain
Because you died.
I shall spend brief and idle hours beside
The many lesser loves that still remain,
But find in none my triumph and my pride;
And Disillusion's slow corroding stain
Will creep upon each quest but newly tried,
For every striving now shall nothing gain
Because you died.
France,
February 1918.