When the cruel War is over The Earth will sing like a lover; And grasses, flowers, and trees Will shake with joy in the breeze. Very old weary men Will know their youth again. And be blithe as England's soldiers when They first sailed o'er the seas. And Wisdom lately spent Will steal forth from banishment, All betimes in the morning, Like a bride to her adorning, Gay and very wistful, Singing with her heart full, She will hide her forehead's scars With the fairest of Heaven's stars. And the tongue will leap with the brain, And not clank in a forger's chain, As it has been heretofore With Truth's jailer at the door; As it was on this globe prison Ere the soul of man had risen. And the dead in the morning dim Will reign as the seraphim. They will fan to flame man's spirit To a whiter purer merit. There will be a new beginning, And some shall cease from sinning,-- When the bitter strife is over, And the Earth is Heaven's lover. TALKING WATER Last night I walked in the fern lands And heard the words of the brooks. What need has a weary man's spirit With phrases from books! The timid fish splashed in the shallows, The sad wind sobbed in the reeds; And I soothed with the whispering water A wound that bleeds. THE END A poet lay dead where two red frontiers meet; And many birds fluttered about his feet. He had unfurled his last wild madrigal, And winds had borne it where the dead leaves fall. The thrush, May's mottled elf, the minstrel, sang More harsh than was his wont. The blackbird rang Strange sobbing woodland bells. The finch so sweet Lay with glazed eye, and raised each shattered wing, And cried in sudden pain, but could not sing. The sparrow twittered, "'Tis dark under the eaves, And sad-eyed Margot sits at home and grieves." The lark said, "God is angry in bright Heaven. I saw Him once,--a great white fluttering bird With beautiful broad wings that oft are heard When the wind beats the blue nave of the skies. I saw Him perching high upon the moon With the most dreadful anguish in His eyes. He flaps His wings, and tries, and wildly tries; But _He_ can sing no longer. It is still in Heaven. It is still in forest and on hill. The green leaves wither, and the world grows chill." A SINN FEINER I once had the trustiest comrade-- God grant he thinks kindly of me-- And we always stood shoulder to shoulder When a tossing wind troubled Life's sea. He was like the marsh fire in fair weather; Though in foul, we made merry together. But his soul was knit to the whirlwind-- The fen mists but shrouded the flame-- And I knew not our friendship's attachment Till the day that the whirlwind came, For I saw our lives broken asunder And watched him away with the thunder.