War, the Liberator, and Other Pieces/Ghosts of War
GHOSTS OF WAR
(Sent from France in October 1917)
WHEN you and I are buriedWith grasses over head,The memory of our fights will standAbove this bare and tortured land,We knew ere we were dead.
Though grasses grow on Vimy,And poppies at Messines,And in High Wood the children play,The craters and the graves will stayTo show what things have been.
Though all be quiet in day-time,The night shall bring a change,And peasants walking home shall seeShell-torn meadow and riven tree,And their own fields grown strange.
They shall hear live men crying,They shall see dead men lie,Shall hear the rattling Maxims fire,And see by broken twists of wireGold flares light up the sky.
And in their new-built housesThe frightened folk will seePale bombers coming down the street,And hear the flurry of charging feet,And the crash of Victory.
This is our Earth baptizèdWith the red wine of War.Horror and courage hand in handShall brood upon the stricken landIn silence evermore.