Excerpt
Strange Meeting It seemed that out of the battle I escapedDown some profound dull tunnel, long since scoopedThrough granites which Titanic wars had groined.Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and staredWith piteous recognition in fixed eyes,Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan."Strange, friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn.""None," said the other, "Save the undone years,The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,Was my life also; I went hunting wildAfter the wildest beauty in the world,Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,But mocks the steady running of the hour,And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.For by my glee might many men have laughed,And of my weeping something has been left,Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,The pity of war, the pity war distilled.Now men will go content with what we spoiled.Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.Courage was mine, and I had mystery;Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;To miss the march of this retreating worldInto vain citadels that are not walled.Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheelsI would go up and wash them from sweet wells,Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.I would have poured my spirit without stintBut not through wounds; not on the cess of war.Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.I am the enemy you killed, my friend.I knew you in this dark; for so you frownedYesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.Let us sleep now . . ." (This poem was found among the author's papers.It ends on this strange note.) *Another Version*Earth's wheels run oiled with blood. Forget we that.Let us lie down and dig ourselves in thought.Beauty is yours and you have mastery,Wisdom is mine, and I have mystery.We two will stay behind and keep our troth.Let us forego men's minds that are brute's natures,Let us not sup the blood which some say nurtures,Be we not swift with swiftness of the tigress.Let us break ranks from those who trek from progress.Miss we the march of this retreating worldInto old citadels that are not walled.Let us lie out and hold the open truth.Then when their blood hath clogged the chariot wheelsWe will go up and wash them from deep wells.What though we sink from men as pitchers fallingMany shall raise us up to be their fillingEven from wells we sunk too deep for warAnd filled by brows that bled where no wounds were. *Alternative line—*Even as One who bled where no wounds were. Greater Love Red lips are not so redAs the stained stones kissed by the English dead....