A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Cathedral
For works with similar titles, see The Cathedral.
THE CATHEDRAL
HOPE and mirth are gone. Beauty is departed.
Heaven's hid in smoke, if there's Heaven still.
Silent the city, friendless, broken-hearted,
Crying in quiet as a widow will.
Oh, for the sound here of a good man's laughter,
Of one blind beggar singing in the street,
Where there's no sound, excepting a blazing rafter
Falls, or the patter of a starved dog's feet.
I have seen Death, and comrades' crumbled faces,
Yea, I have closed dear eyes with half a smile;
But horror's in this havoc of old places
Where driven men once rested from their hurry
And girls were happy for a little while,
Forgiving, praying, singing, feeling sorry.