Classic Poem

The din of the jazz band
Harasses, confuses my senses —
Derisive of music, mere rhythm discordant,
It forces to motion,
It mocks at inaction,
Yet I cannot move from the doorway —
Though it hurts and molests me,
Stuns and defies me,
I gaze at the dancers all down the long gallery;
Breathless girls, with fancy excited,
And soldiers in khaki — strutting forward and endlessly backing,
And sailor boys graceful in wide flowing trousers —
All pacing together the brilliant lit gallery,
Just perceptibly ragging —
From side to side swaying —
With arms interlaced, spellbound by the measure
Of the jazz — now ribald with horns, bells and rattles.

And I shiver —
For I know the sequel.
They are ordered to Pershing to-morrow,
Daybreak will see them embarking:
No son of them dreams it — good-bye is forgotten —
As tensely enjoying
They dance on — flushed and smiling —
Eager with boyhood and solemn with pleasure.
But I see — white faces —
Upturned on the far fields of Flanders —
Fallen as stars unrecorded,
And the din of the jazz band
Harasses, confuses my senses —
As derisive of music, sheer rhythm discordant
It forces to motion —
It jibes at inaction —
Yet I cannot move from the doorway,
Where I watch them — all down the long gallery,
Strutting forward and endlessly backing,
With arms interlaced, slightly ragging —
For I know their hour is striking —
And I cannot move from the doorway.