SONG

I made a song in my love's likeness

From colours of my quietude,

From trees whose blossoms shine no less

Than butterflies in the wild-wood.

I laid claim on all beauty

Under the sun to praise her wonder,

Till the noise of war swept over me,

Stopp'd my singing mouth with thunder.

The angel of death hath swift wings,

I heard him strip the huddled trees

Overhead, as a hornet sings,

And whip the grass about my knees.

Down we crouched in the parched dust,

Down beneath that deadly rain:

Dead still I lay, as lie one must

Who hath a bullet in his brain.

Dead they left me: but my soul, waking,

Quietly laughed at their distress

Who guessed not that I still was making

That new song in my love's likeness.