But whether it be yours to fall or kill You must not pause to question why nor where. You see the tiny crosses on that hill? It took all those to make one millionaire. It was for him the seas of blood were shed, That fields were razed and cities lit the sky; And now he comes to chortle o'er the dead-- The condor Thing for whom the millions die! The bugle screams, the cannons cease to roar. "Enough! enough! God give us peace again." The rats, the maggots and the Lords of War Are fat to bursting from their meal of men. So stagger back, you stupid dupes who've "won," Back to your stricken towns to toil anew, For there your dismal tasks are still undone And grim Starvation gropes again for you. What matters now your flag, your race, the skill Of scattered legions--what has been the gain? Once more beneath the lash you must distil Your lives to glut a glory wrought of pain. In peace they starve you to your loathsome toil, In war they drive you to the teeth of Death; And when your life-blood soaks into their soil They give you lies to choke your dying breath. So will they smite your blind eyes till you see, And lash your naked backs until you know That wasted blood can never set you free From fettered thraldom to the Common Foe. Then you will find that "nation" is a name And boundaries are things that don't exist; That Labor's bondage, worldwide, is the same, And ONE the enemy it must resist. Montreal, 1914. THE GIRLS WHO SANG FOR US What does it mean to us that Spring is here? We asked ourselves within the great grey hall. We shall not feel the magic of her call; This day, like others, will be dull and drear. And then you sang . . . and brought so very near, The fragrant world beyond the prison wall, The tender fields, the trees and grass, and all The hopes and dreams that every man holds dear. O, silvery voices, sweet with life and youth Brushing our grey lives with your rainbow wings-- Lives that were stern and bitter with old wrong, And cleansing them with beauty and with truth; Reviving memories of vanished springs-- Making us whole with miracles of song! TO EDITH Do you remember how we walked that night In early spring? And how we found a new and sweet delight In everything? Do you remember how the air was filled With mist and moonlight--how our hearts were thrilled-- And seemed to sing? What if these walls shut out the world for me And heaven too, There still lives fragrant in my memory The thought of you. And out there now with life's high dome above you If you but knew how very much I love you-- If you but knew . . . . SONG OF SEPARATION