THE SAD YEARS
THE HUMAN TOUCH
She made roses all the day for pretty ladies' wear,
All through the patient hours, half into the night.
Dragged into a hurried knot all her dusty hair,
Eyes foolish with fatigue, straining to the light.
Pretty ladies roamed away over land and sea,
Talked on foreign boulevard, laughed in gay bazaar;
Followed summer's sunny road planning times to be,
Happy hours of holiday, as the seasons are.
She made roses all the day for pretty ladies' wear,
All through the long day, half into the night.
Followed all the toiling hours with a dumb despair
Lest they overtake her skill in their hurried flight.
Pretty ladies in the park driving up and down,
Chatting of the horrid war, strolling on the grass,
Shopping long in Regent Street, over cloak or gown,
Waving hand or handkerchief as the soldiers pass.
