(To My City)

The dull dispiriting November weather Hung like a blight on town and tower and tree, Hardly was Beauty anywhere to see Save--how fine rain (together With spare last leaves of creepers once showed wet As it were, with blood of some high-making passion,) Drifted slow and slow.... But steadily aglow The City was, beneath its grey, and set Strong-mooded above the day’s inclemency.

Flaunting from houses, over the rejoicing crowd, Flags waved; that told how nation against nation Should war no more, their wounds tending awhile:-- The sullen vanquished; Victors with heads bowed. And still the bells from the square towers pealed Victory, The whole time cried Victory, Victory flew Banners invisible argent; Music intangible A glory of spirit wandered the wide air through. All knew it, nothing mean of fire or common Ran in men’s minds; none so poor but knew Some touch of sacred wonder, noble wonder,-- Thought’s surface moving under; Life’s texture coarse transfiguring through and through.

Joking, friendly-quarrelling, holiday-making, Eddying hither, thither, without stay That concourse went, squibs, crackers, squibbing, cracking-- Laughter gay All common-jovial noises sounded, bugles triumphing masterful, strident, clear above all, Hail fellow, cat-call ... Yet one discerned A new spirit learnt of pain, some great Acceptance out of hard endurance learned And truly; wrested bare of hand from Fate. The soldier from his body slips the pack, Staggers, relaxes, crouches, then lies back, Glad for the end of torment. Here was more.

A sense of consummation undeserved, Desire fulfilled beyond dreams, completion Humbly accepted,--a proud and grateful nation Took the reward of purpose had not swerved, But steadily before Saw out, with equal mind, through alternation Of hope and doubt--a four-year purge of fire Changing with sore Travail the flawed spirit, cleansing desire.

And glad was I: Glad--who had seen By Somme and Ancre too many comrades lie. It was as if the Woman’s spirit moved That multitude, never of Man that pays So lightly for the treasure of his days-- Of some woman that too greatly had beloved Yet, willing, half her care of life foregone; Best half of being losing with her son, Beloved, beautiful, born-of-agony One....

The dull skies wept still. Drooped suddenly Flags all. No triumph there. Belgium, the Stars and Stripes, Gaul, Italy, Britain, assured Mistress, Queen of the Sea, Forlorn colours showed; rags glory-bare. Night came, starless, to blur all things over That strange assort of Life; Sister, and lover, Brother, child, wife, Parent--each with his thought, careless or passioned, Of those who gave their frames of flesh to cover From spoil their land and folk, desperately fashioned Fate stubborn to their will.

Rain fell, miserably, miserably, and still The strange crowd clamoured till late, eddied, clamoured, Mixed, mused, drifted.... The Day of Victory.