No News from the War.
I.—At the Camp.
Is she sitting in the meadow1
Where the brook leaps to the mill,2
Leaning low against the poplar,3
Dreamily and still ?4
Now, with joined hands, grave, now smiling,5
Gathering now and then6
From her lap her woodland darlings,7
Pale sweet cyclamen ?8
Sitting as she sat that evening,9
Trying to feel that sweet same10
Who was waiting me and knew not,11
Feel as when I came,12
Feel again the strange shy newness,13
The betrothing one first kiss ?14
Oh, my own, you are remembering15
In an hour like this !16
II.—In the Meadow.
Here, here it was he made me promise him ;17
He stood beneath that branch ; here was his seat,18
Just where the bole’s shade makes the sunlight dim,19
Beside me, at my feet.20
Ah, since, so many times we have sat here :21
And who can tell when that shall be again ?22
My love ! my love !— But what have I to fear ?23
Could prayers like mine be vain ?24
He will not fall, my hero ; he will come25
Bringing ripe honours more to honour me :26
He will come scathless back, and tell his home27
He helped to keep it free.28
Oh, love, I was so proud of you before—29
How can I be so much, much prouder now ?30
And how can I grow prouder more and more ?31
Ah, but my heart knows how.32
III.—From a Special Correspondent’s Letter.
*****
And still news to matter. Fights each day,33
Hundreds of killed and wounded ; but we wait34
This great impending battle which, they say,35
Will be more terrible even the late.36
It must come soon : to-morrow it might be.37
Now, since I can tell nothing, let me give38
An incident, merely to make you see39
How near to death all of us here must live.40
This morning, on my chosen slope, from whence41
My watch, I thought, was safe, I channced to see42
A young and stalwart captain leap a fence43
To pluck a cyclamen, not far from me,44
Which made me note his face : this afternoon45
On that same slope I saw his body lie46
Among a dozen. Well, you may look soon47
For tidings of some moment. Now Good-bye.48