K ings of the East did bring their gold A nd jewels unto the cattle fold. T he angel’s song was heard by men “H oly! holy! holy!” then. L ittle and weak in the manger He lay E ven as you in a cradle to-day; E ven as you did the Christ-child rest N estling warm in His mother’s breast. GÜTERSLOH, _December 1916._ CHRISTMAS IN PRISON Outside, white snow And freezing mire. The heart of the house Is a blazing fire! Even so whatever hags do ride His outward fortune, withinside The heart of a man burns Christmastide! TO THE OLD YEAR Old year, farewell! Much have you given which was ill to bear: Much have taken which was dear, so dear: Much have you spoken which was ill to hear; Echoes of speech first uttered deep in hell. Pass now like some grey harlot to the tomb! Yet die in child-birth, and from out your womb Leap the young year unsullied! He perchance Shall bring to man his lost inheritance. BALLADE No. 1 Bodies of comrade soldiers gleaming white Within the mill-pool where you float and dive And lounge around part-clothed or naked quite; Beautiful shining forms of men alive, O living lutes stringed with the senses five For Love’s sweet fingers; seeing Fate afar, My very soul with Death for you must strive; Because of you I loathe the name of War. But O you piteous corpses yellow-black, Rotting unburied in the sunbeam’s light, With teeth laid bare by yellow lips curled back Most hideously; whose tortured souls took flight Leaving your limbs, all mangled by the fight, In attitudes of horror fouler far Than dreams which haunt a devil’s brain at night; Because of you I loathe the name of War. Mothers and maids who loved you, and the wives Bereft of your sweet presences; yea, all Who knew you beautiful; and those small lives Made of that knowledge; O, and you who call For life (but vainly now) from that dark hall Where wait the Unborn, and the loves which are In future generations to befall; Because of you I loathe the name of War. L’ENVOI Prince Jesu, hanging stark upon a tree Crucified as the malefactors are That man and man henceforth should brothers be; Because of you I loathe the name of War. BALLADE No. 2 You dawns, whose loveliness I have not missed, Making so delicate background for the larches Melting the hills to softest amethyst; O beauty never absent from our marches; Passion of heaven shot golden through the arches Of woods, or filtered softly from a star, Nature’s wild love that never cloys or parches; Because of you I love the name of War.