XIV. IF I WERE DEAD.
If I were dead, youd sometimes say, Poor Child!
The dear lips quiverd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
XV. PEACE
O England, how hast thou forgot,
In dullard care for undisturbd increase
Of gold, which profits not,
The gain which once thou knewst was for thy peace!
Honour is peace, the peace which does accord
Alone with Gods glad word:
My peace I send you, and I send a sword.
O England, how hast thou forgot,
How fearst the things which make for joy, not fear,
Confronted near.
Hard days? Tis what the pamperd seek to buy
With their most willing gold in weary lands.
Loss and pain riskd? What sport but understands
These for incitements! Suddenly to die,
With conscience a blurrd scroll?
The sunshine dreaming upon Salmons height
Is not so sweet and white
As the most heretofore sin-spotted soul
That darts to its delight
Straight from the absolution of a faithful fight.
Myriads of homes unloosend of homes bond,
And filld with helpless babes and harmless women fond?
Let those whose pleasant chance
Took them, like me, among the German towns,
After the war that pluckd the fangs from France,