THE GHOSTS

There was no wind, and yet the air

Seemed suddenly astir;

There were no forms, and yet all space

Seemed thronged with growing hosts.

They came from Where, and from Nowhere,

Like phantoms as they were;

They came from many a land and place -

The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.

And some were white, and some were grey,

And some were red as blood -

Those ghosts of men who met their death

Upon the field of war.

Against the skies of fading day,

Like banks of cloud they stood;

And each wraith asked another wraith,

‘ What were we fighting for?’

One said,‘ I was my mother's all;

And she was old and blind.’

Another,‘ Back on earth, my wife

And week-old baby lie.’

Another,‘ At the bugle's call,

I left my bride behind;

Love made so beautiful my life

I could not bear to die.’

In voices like the winds that moan

Among pine trees at night,

They whispered long, the newly dead,

While listening stars came out.

‘ We wonder if the cause is known,

And if the war was right,

That killed us in our prime,’ they said,

‘ And what it was about.’

They came in throngs that filled all space -

Those whispering phantom hosts;

They came from many a land and place,

The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.