Classic Poem

Peace . . . . Peace . . . . the peace of dusky shores
And tremulous waters where dark shadows lie;
The stillness of low sounds . . . . the ripple's urge
Along the keel, the distant thrush's call,
The drip of oars; the calm of dew-filled air;
The peace of afterglow; the golden peace
Of the moon's finger laid across the flood.
Yet ah! how few brief, fleeting moments since,
That same still finger lay at Langemarck,
And touched the silent dead, and wanly moved
Across the murky fields and battle lines
Where late my Country's bravest kept their faith.
O heavenly beauty of our northern wild,
I held it once the perfect death to die
In such a scene, in such an hour, and pass
From glory unto glory—Time, perhaps,
May yet retrieve that vision—oh! but now
These quiet hills oppress me: I am hedged
As in that selfish Eden of the dawn
Wherein man fell to rise; and I have sucked
The bitter fruit of knowledge, and am robbed
Of my rose-decked contentment, when I hear
Though far, the clash of arms, the shouts, the groans—
A world in torment, dying to be saved.
Oh God! the blood of Outram in these veins
Cries shame upon the doom that dams it here
In useless impotence, while the red torrent runs
In glorious spate for Liberty and Right!
Oh, to have died that day at Langemarck!
In one fierce moment to have paid it all—
The debt of life to Earth, and Hell, and Heaven!
To have perished nobly in a noble cause!
Untarnished, unpolluted, undismayed,
By the dank world's corruption, to have passed,
A flaming beacon-light to gods and men!
For in the years to come it shall be told
How these laid down their lives, not for their homes,
Their orchards, fields and cities: “They were driven
To slaughter by no tyrant's lust for power;
Of their free manhood's choice they crossed the sea
To save a stricken people from its foe.
They died for Justice—Justice owes them this:
That what they died for be not overthrown.”

Peace . . . . Peace . . . . not thus may I find peace:
Like a caged leopard chafing at its bars
In ineffectual movement, this clogged spirit
Must pad its life out, an unwilling drone,
In safety and in comfort; at the best
Achieving patience in the gods' despite
And at the worst—somehow the debt is paid.