Men, Women and Ghosts [40]
Do men find life so full of humour and joy That for want of excitement they smash up the toy?
Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their "of courses"
Are not quite the same. All these men by the ears, And nine nations of women choking with tears.
It is folly to think that the will of a king Can force men to make ducks and drakes of a thing
They value, and life is, at least one supposes, Of some little interest, even if roses
Have not grown up between one foot and the other. What a marvel bureaucracy is, which can smother
Such quite elementary feelings, and tag A man with a number, and set him to wag
His legs and his arms at the word of command Or the blow of a whistle! He's certainly damned,
Fit only for mince-meat, if a little gold lace And an upturned moustache can set him to face
Bullets, and bayonets, and death, and diseases, Because some one he calls his Emperor, pleases.
If each man were to lay down his weapon, and say, With a click of his heels, "I wish you Good-day,"
Now what, may I ask, could the Emperor do? A king and his minions are really so few.
Angry? Oh, of course, a most furious Emperor! But the men are so many they need not mind his temper, or
The dire results which could not be inflicted. With no one to execute sentence, convicted
Is just the weak wind from an old, broken bellows. What lackeys men are, who might be such fine fellows!
To be killing each other, unmercifully, At an order, as though one said, "Bring up the tea."
Or is it that tasting the blood on their jaws They lap at it, drunk with its ferment, and laws
So patiently builded, are nothing to drinking More blood, any blood. They don't notice its stinking.
I don't suppose tigers do, fighting cocks, sparrows, And, as to men -- what are men, when their marrows
Are running with blood they have gulped; it is plain Such excellent sport does not recollect pain.
Toll the bells in the steeples left standing. Half-mast The flags which meant order, for order is past.
Take the dust of the streets and sprinkle your head, The civilization we've worked for is dead.
Squeeze into this archway, the head of the line Has just swung round the corner to `Die Wacht am Rhein'.
The Overgrown Pasture
Reaping
You want to know what's the matter with me, do yer? My! ain't men blinder'n moles? It ain't nothin' new, be sure o' that. Why, ef you'd had eyes you'd ha' seed Me changin' under your very nose, Each day a little diff'rent. But you never see nothin', you don't. Don't touch me, Jake, Don't you dars't to touch me, I ain't in no humour. That's what's come over me; Jest a change clear through. You lay still, an' I'll tell yer, I've had it on my mind to tell yer Fer some time. It's a strain livin' a lie from mornin' till night, An' I'm goin' to put an end to it right now. An' don't make any mistake about one thing, When I married yer I loved yer. Why, your voice 'ud make Me go hot and cold all over, An' your kisses most stopped my heart from beatin'. Lord! I was a silly fool. But that's the way 'twas. Well, I married yer An' thought Heav'n was comin' To set on the door-step. Heav'n didn't do no settin', Though the first year warn't so bad. The baby's fever threw you off some, I guess, An' then I took her death real hard, An' a mopey wife kind o' disgusts a man. I ain't blamin' yer exactly. But that's how 'twas. Do lay quiet, I know I'm slow, but it's harder to say 'n I thought. There come a time when I got to be More wife agin than mother. The mother part was sort of a waste When we didn't have no other child. But you'd got used ter lots o' things, An' you was all took up with the farm. Many's the time I've laid awake Watchin' the moon go clear through the elm-tree, Out o' sight. I'd foller yer around like a dog, An' set in the chair you'd be'n settin' in, Jest to feel its arms around me, So long's I didn't have yours. It preyed on me, I guess, Longin' and longin' While you was busy all day, and snorin' all night. Yes,