Poems (Cromwell)/The Extra
THE EXTRA
Sheltered and safe we sit. Our chairs are opposite; We watch the warm fire burn In the dark. A log I turn. Across the covered floor I hear the quiet hush Of muffled steps: the brush Of skirts;—then a closing door. Close to you and me The clock ticks quietly.
I know that we exist Two entities in Time. Our vital wills resist Enclosing night; our thoughts Command a Truth above All fear, in knowing Love.
But a voice in the street draws near; A wordless blur of sound Breaks like a flood around: "Trust not your hopes, for all are vain, Trust not your happiness and pain, Trust not your storehouses of grain, Trust not your strength on land or sea,
Trust not your loves that come and go, Trust only the hate of the unknown foe,—War is the one reality."
Are we awake or dreaming? On the hearth, the ashes are gleaming.
Listen, dear: The clock ticks on in the quiet room, It's all a joke, a poor one, too. Or else I'm mad! This can't be true? I light the lamp to lift the gloom. My world's too good for such a doom. One fact, if nothing else, I know, I'll die sooner than have it so!