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THE BOOK OF THE HOMELESS
Là-bas, ces feuillaisons de haine;
C'est la terreur de ce temps-ci.
Saint-Cloud, le 31 Juillet 1915
THE NEW SPRING
[ TRANSLATION ]
Sadly your dear voice said:
"Is the old spring-time dead,
And shall we never see
New leaves upon the tree?
"Shall the black wings of war
Blot out sun, moon and star,
And never a bud unfold
To the bee its secret gold?
"Where are the wind-flowers streaked,
And the wayward bramble shoots.
And the black-birds yellow-beaked
With a note like woodland flutes?"
No flower shall bloom this year
But the wild flame of fear
Wreathing the evil night
With burst of deadly light.
[ 38 ]
