Fearful tales you told us— Some of them were true; Furtive tears were often spilled In the cups we poured for you. How we yearned to help you; Longed to understand The riddle of your restless look, The strange lines of your hand. You brought us pain and vision, Bright youth and gallant ways. Sailor, we shall miss you In the peaceful days! CRIPPLED SOLDIER I may have used but half my strength, And you but half your mind, To help the Cause for which he bled, Leaving a limb behind. You may have stumbled in your task, I may have limped and failed. But he leaped forth to give his hope, Nor once looked back, nor quailed. We may be scarred with vain regret For duties left undone, With stiffened limbs and slackened hearts, When the great war is won. Then who will say that he is lame, While we are safe and whole? Who bears dread wounds for others’ sake Has the uncrippled soul. And life for him may now begin, With a new hope at heart, While we, disfigured, face a peace In which we won no part. THE FLAG TRIUMPHANT Across my window blow the splendid folds Of the great flag hung out for Victory And Peace. They gleam through traceries of vine And struggling plants, cherished through four grim years For comfort, now in blossom. Everything I see between the flutterings of the flag; The unimportant doings in the street, The homely houses opposite, the folk Carelessly passing; and the flight of doves— Peace doves—along a narrow strip of sky. I see them glorified by red and white, Under a blessed hidden field of stars. And when I turn away to read or write, My eyes are dazzled still by vivid flashes, Caught from the floating colors. No escape From thoughts of death heroic, life triumphant! The room is full of red and white reflections. The very picture-glasses are aglow With patriotic fervor, not content To be mere shields for ancient, precious things— Precious for being ancient; they would share The pride of present effort. Even shy prisms Hung in old candelabra flush and pale Alternately, with tremulous, caught emotion.