THE SWAN OF DIJON

I was in Dijon when the war's wild blast

Was at its loudest; when there was no sound

From dawn to dawn, save soldiers marching past,

Or rattle of their wagons in the street.

When every engine whistle would repeat

Persistently, with meaning tense, profound,

‘ We carry men to slaughter’ or‘ we bring

Remnants of men back as war's offering.’

And there in Dijon, the out-gazing eye

Grew weary of the strife-suggesting scene;

But, searching, found one quiet spot hard by

Where war was not; a little lake whereon

Moved leisurely a stately, tranquil swan,

Majestic and imposing, yet serene.

I was in Dijon, when no sound or sight

Woke thoughts of peace, save this one speck of white,

Sailing‘ neath skies of menace, unafraid

While silver fountains for his pleasure played.

Dear Swan of Dijon, it was your good part

To rest a tired heart.