I knew how 'twould be from the first, I think my heart could tell; I loved a man who never durst Not do well.

ix

How young, how gay they marcht away, All our village boys!

Leaving us women here to pray, Drowning with their noise Mis...o...b.. and eager mother-love, Hungry on the watch, As if they went to race and shove In a football match.

But my love chose in soberness Another way, his own; And G.o.d I bless that my distress Came suddenly down.

A swift November night was falling In a windless air; I heard him indoors, heard him calling, And went, and he was there.

x

He stood still, and his gaze Was far off, and slow And quiet the words he says: "Nancy, I must go."

In my still heart's deep I gloried in the trust He handed me to keep, In his quiet "I must."

No more we said that night, But sat in the gloom; We sat without candle-light In our little room.

Handfast, like girl and boy, There we sat on, h.o.a.rding our store of joy Against he were gone.

Handfast, like boy and girl, And my eyes they did fill; But my heart was in a whirl To have him there still.

'Twas when we were abed, And I against his heart, That I knew the great dread It would be to part.

Old sayings, that sounded new, Sweet, every broken word-- "My Nancy, sweet and true, My pretty wild bird!"

I let him kiss me, but I Lay quite still in his arm: If I had started to cry G.o.d only knew the harm!

And if he thought me cool 'Twould make an easier going; But _if_ he thought me cool 'Twas not for want of knowing.

Towards the twilight gray When my love was sleeping, I sat upright to pray, And heard the sparrows cheeping.

It was their fond love-twitter That broke my prayer down, Turn'd all my faith bitter, To set it by their own.

Their love-life to begin, And mine now--where?

Their nest to win, Mine soon to be bare!

I lookt forth from my bed To the cold square of the light-- Unto G.o.d I said, "Show me why men must fight,

"You, Who to each one say, Love you one another; You, Who bid women obey Husbands, and sons their mother;

"You, Who of me require To love what I cannot see, Milk and a heart of fire To nourish what may not be!

"Shall my milk be churn'd into gall, Or my blood freeze at the fount, And You make light of it all, And my love of little account?"

Then as I held my throat, G.o.d answer'd me by a bird, One long flourishing note, The bravest I ever heard;

And I turn'd where my love lay fast In his wholesome sleep; About him my arms I cast And found grace to weep.

He would do what was right, As I knew very well-- Yes, but who made them fight, And turn'd our heaven to h.e.l.l?

The more I listen the sighs, The mourning and the dearth, The deeper my heart cries Over this wounded earth.

VI

i

May the good King That guards like sheep Kings and shepherds all Send us quiet sleep!

Shepherds great and small Has He in hold; There need no danger Threaten field or fold.

Lowly in a manger That King was born Of maid undefiled On a winter's morn.

He lay a little child On His mother's knee; Three kings out of the East Came Him to see.

On a mother's breast Still did He lie: Said one king to the other, "Such once was I!"

Then said his brother, "Even thus, I trow, Once lay thy simplicity, _But where is that now_?"

ii

How many a woman's eyes are worn, Weeping a murder'd son!

How many wish none they had borne To do as theirs have done!

Who dares to see a mask of hate And snarling on the face Which she had pray'd to consecrate To honour for a s.p.a.ce?

This high-flusht lad whom she has known Since as a new-born child He lay as soft as thistle-down, Or like an angel smil'd; Whom she has seen, a st.u.r.dy imp Tumble bare-breecht at play, Or nurst to health when, quiet and limp, Short-breath'd and flusht he lay;

Or shockhead boy, aburst with joy, Or gawky, ill-at-ease, All hot and coy, a hobbledehoy With laces round his knees-- But hers, her own, with eyes that trust Hers for his better part-- Ah, tiger-l.u.s.t of War that thrust A hand to s.n.a.t.c.h that heart!

She hides her woe, and helps him go, She sits at home to pray; He tells her when he met the foe, But nothing of the way.

She never knows the way, and who Would know it if she could, What in his fever-heat he do Of rage and dust and blood?

The lads go by, the colours fly, Drums rattle, bugles bray; We only cry, Let mine not die-- No thought for whom he slay.

But woman bares a martyr breast, And herself points the flame: Her son, a hero or a beast, Will never be the same.

iii

When forth my love to duty went I sought my old home, My few months' joy over and spent, And lean years to come.

My mother blinkt her patient eyes; She said, It was to be.

Was I less temperate or more wise To question her decree?

Was it for this, our clasp and kiss?