War, the Liberator, and Other Pieces/The Dead Men
THE DEAD MEN
IT was yesterday I heard againThe dead man talk with living men,And watched the thread of converse goAmong the speakers to and fro,Woven with merriment and witAnd beauty to embroider it;And in the middle now and then,The laughter clear of happy men—Only to me a charnel scentDrifted across the argument,Only to me his fair young headWas lifeless and untenanted,And in his quiet even tones,I heard the sound of naked bones,And in his empty eyes could seeThe man who talked was dead, like me.
Then in the conversation’s swim,I leaned across and spoke to him, And in his dim and dreary eyesRead suddenly a strange surprise,And in the touch of his dank hand,Knew that he too could understand;So we two talked, and as we heardOur friends’ applause of each dull wordWe felt the slow and mournful windsBlow through the corpse house of our minds,And the cool dark of underground.And all the while they sat aroundWeighing each listless thing we said,And did not know that we were dead.