Apologia pro Poemate Meo
About this book
Apologia pro Poemate Meo (in Short Poetry Collection 090 )I, too, saw God through mud,—The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.Merry it was to laugh there—Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.For power was on us as we slashed bones bareNot to feel sickness or remorse of murder.I, too, have dropped off Fear—Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,And sailed my spirit surging, light and clearPast the entanglement where hopes lay strewn;And witnessed exultation—Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.I have made fellowships—Untold of happy lovers in old song.For love is not the binding of fair lipsWith the soft silk of eyes that look and long,By Joy, whose ribbon slips,—But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong.I have perceived much beautyIn the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;Heard music in the silentness of duty;Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.Nevertheless, except you shareWith them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,And heaven but as the highway for a shell,You shall not hear their You shall not come to think them well contentBy any jest of mine. These men are w