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POEM: SPRING IN WAR-TIME
Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow
Lies along the lovers' lane
Where last year we used to go -
Where we shall not go again.
In the hedge the buds are new,
By our wood the violets peer -
Just like last year's violets, too,
But they have no scent this year.
Every bird has heart to sing
Of its nest, warmed by its breast;
We had heart to sing last spring,
But we never built our nest.
Presently red roses blown
Will make all the garden gay . . .
Not yet have the daisies grown
On your clay.
Turn to the next chapter: POEM: THE MOTHER'S PRAYER