FullReads

At stroke of noon my love came in
Sharpset for his food;
To see him was right sense to win,
And feel safe and good.
I was asham’d my fears to tell
Lest he should think,
“I thought I knew this woman well–
But what makes her shrink?”

iii

The summer went her gracious way
Of sun and lingering eves;
I did my share to win the hay,
The corn stood in sheaves
Ere August month was fairly come;
And when it was here
I knew I carried in my womb
The harvest of my dear.

iv

When I was sure I sat down quiet
In the deep shade,
And if my heart was all in riot
I was not afraid.
I did not think, nor say a pray’r,
But lookt straight before me,
And felt that Someone else stood there
With hands held o’er me.

I thought His peace blest my increase;
But then, as it seem’d,
A shadow made my joy to cease,
And the day was dimm’d.
I shiver’d as if one a knife
Should pull forth of the sheath.
I think just then the Lord of Life
Gave way to Him of Death.

As one bestead with gossamer-thread
I pluckt at my eyes
To catch again the glory shed,
The hope, the load, the prize;
But no more hands invisible
Held like a shade o’er me,
And there seem’d little enough to tell
My husband momently.

The long forenoon my thought I held,
And yet all thro’ it
The wires all England over shrill’d,
And I never knew it!
In a high muse I nurst my news
All the forenoon,
While England braced her limbs and thews
To a marching tune.

v

I serv’d my love, when he came home,
His meal; then on his knee
I told him what I might become,
And he kiss’d me;
Then said, “Indeed, there may be need
Of this little one,
For many a woman’s heart must bleed
For wanting of a son.

“Since we awoke, the word is spoke,
And if ’tis still right
That English folk keep faith unbroke,
Then must England fight.”
I could not look, nor think, nor ask
What himself would do,
But call’d to task my pride, to bask
In what had warm’d me thro’.

Oh, he was grave and self-possest
Under love’s new crown!
He took me in his arms to rest,
And lay my head down
A moment on his shoulder; then
Went steady to his work.
I knew what fate soe’er call’d men
He was none to shirk.

Now I must play the helpful wife,
And my new pride
Be little worth to ease the strife
That vext me in the side;
For like a green and aching wound,
Like a throbbing vein
I felt this terror on the ground
Of young men slain.

The swooning summer sun sank low,
And all the dusty air
Held breathlessly beneath his glow,
So tir’d, so quiet and fair,
I would not think that men could live
In such glory a minute,
To hate and grudge, to slay and reive
Poor souls within it.

vi

I heard fond crying in my ears,
Fond and vain regret
For life as it had been ere tears
Made women’s eyes wet;
I saw arise the host of stars
And listen’d to their song;
“O we have seen a thousand wars
And woe agelong!

“What are you men, what are you women
But a shifting sand?
The tide of life is overbrimming–
God holds not His hand;
But all the evil with the good
To His mill is grist;
He serves his mood now with man’s blood
Who serv’d it once with beast.”