I remember the poise of your head, And your look, and the words you said When we met, And the waxen bloom at your breast, And the sable fur that caressed Your smooth white wrists, and your hands ... Remember them yet, Here In the desolate lands; Remember your shy Strange air, And growing aware-- I, Who had reckoned love Man’s toy for an hour-- Of love’s hidden power: A thrill That moved me to touch and adore Some intimate thing that you wore-- A glove, Or the flower A-glow at your breast, The frill Of fur that circled your wrist ... These, had my hands caressed; These, not you, had I kissed-- I, Who had thought love’s fires Only desires. Dear, That hidden power thrills in me yet. There is never one hour-- Not even here In this City of Fear-- When I quite forget. _MUSIC AND WINE_ When the ink has dried on the pen, When the sword returns to its sheath; When the world of women and men, And the waters around and beneath, Char and shrivel and burn-- What will God give in return?... Has He better to offer in heaven above Than wine and music, laughter and love? Laughter, music and wine, The promise of love in your eyes ... Sleeping, I dream them mine; Waking, my spirit cries-- Here in the mud and the rain-- “God, give me London again! I would lose all earth and the heavens above For just one banquet of laughter and love.” When my flesh returns to its earth, When my pen is dust as my sword; If one thing I wrought find worth In the eyes of our kindly Lord, I will only ask of His grace That He grant us a lowly place Where his warriors toast Him, in heaven above, With wine and music, laughter and love. _THE GAMBLE_ If man backs horses, plays cards or dice, Or bets on an ivory ball, He knows the rules, and he reckons the price-- Be it one half-crown, or his all. (And it isn’t sense, and it isn’t pluck, To double the stakes when you’re out of luck!) If he plays--with his life for a limit--here, It’s an even-money game: He can lay on the Red--which is Conquered Fear, Or the Black--which is Utter Shame. (And there isn’t much choice between Reds and Blacks, For Death throws “zero” whichever he backs.) So that whether man plays for the red gold’s wealth Where the little ball clicks and spins, Or hazards his life in the black night’s stealth When machine-gun fire begins-- It’s a limited gamble; and each of us knows What he stands to lose ere the tables close.