The rich, red blood Doth stain the fair, green grass, and daisies white In generous flood ... This sun-drowsed day for me is darkest night. O! wreck of splintered wood and twisted wire, What blind, unmeasured hatred you inspire Because yours was the power that life to end ... Of him, who was my friend! This morn we lay upon the grass, And watched the languid hours pass; A lark, deep in the sky's blue sea, Sang ecstasies to him and me. And with the daisies did he play, As on the waving grass we lay, And made a little daisy chain To bring his childhood back again. And while he watched the clouds above He drifted into thoughts of love. He said, "I know why skylarks sing-- Because they love, and it is Spring. And if I had a voice as they, So would I sing this golden May, Because I love, and loved am I, And when I wander through the sky, I wish I had a skylark's voice, And with such singing could rejoice. Oh, happy, happy, are these days! My heart is full of deep-felt praise, And thanks to God who brings this bliss! Oh! what a happiness is this-- To lie upon the grass and know In two short days that I shall go And see my Love's fair face again, And wander in some flowery lane, Forgetting all the world around, And only knowing I have found A Spring enchantment, which is mine Through God's sweet sympathy divine, ... May these two days now swiftly pass!" He laughed upon the sunlit grass. The days have passed, but passed, alas! how slow! See down the road a sad procession go! Oh! hear the wailing music moan! Why? Why such grief am I to know? Dear God! I wish I were alone. For by the grave a girl with streaming eyes Doth make mine dim. While high among the sunny springtime skies, The larks still hymn. _France, 1917._ _The Night Raid_ Around me broods the dim, mysterious Night, Star-lit and still. No whisper comes across the Plain, Asleep beneath the breezes light, Which scarcely stir the growing grain. Slow chimes the quiet midnight hour In some unseen and distant tower, While round me broods the vague, mysterious Night, Star-lit, and cool, and still. And I must desecrate this silent time Of drowsy dreams! On mighty wings towards the sky, Towards the stars, I have to climb And o'er the sleeping country fly, And such far-echoing clamour make That all the villages must wake. So must I desecrate this quiet time Of soft and drowsy dreams! The hour comes ... soon must I say farewell To this fair earth. Then to my little room I go Where I perhaps no more shall dwell. Shall I return?--The Gods but know. Perchance again I shall not sleep On that white bed in silence deep. For soon the hour comes to say farewell To this fair, friendly earth.