| |
I IT was silent in the street. | |
| I did not know until a woman told me, | |
| Sobbing over the muslin she sold me. | |
| Then I went out and walked to the square | |
| And saw a few dazed people standing there. | 5 |
| |
| And then the drums beat, the drums beat! | |
| O then the drums beat! | |
| And hurrying, stumbling through the street | |
| Came the hurrying stumbling feet. | |
| O I have heard the drums beat | 10 |
| For war! | |
| I have heard the townsfolk come, | |
| I have heard the roll and thunder of the nearest drum | |
| As the drummer stopped and cried, “Hear! | |
| Be strong! The summons comes! Prepare!” | 15 |
| Closing he prayed us to be calm … | |
| |
| And there was calm in my heart of the desert, of the dead sea, | |
| Of vast plains of the West before the coming storm, | |
| And there was calm in their eyes like the last calm that shall be. | |
| |
| And then the drum beat, | 20 |
| The fatal drum beat, | |
| And the drummer marched through the street | |
| And down to another square, | |
| And the drummer above took up the beat | |
| And sent it onward where | 25 |
| Huddled, we stood and heard the drums roll, | |
| And then a bell began to toll. | |
| |
| O I have heard the thunder of drums | |
| Crashing into simple poor homes. | |
| I have heard the drums roll “Farewell!” | 30 |
| I have heard the tolling cathedral bell. | |
| Will it ever peal again? | |
| Shall I ever smile or feel again? | |
| What was joy? What was pain? | |
| |
| For I have heard the drums beat, | 35 |
| I have seen the drummer striding from street to street, | |
| Crying, “Be strong! Hear what I must tell!” | |
| While the drums roared and rolled and beat | |
| For war! | |
| |
II Last night the men of this region were leaving. Now they are far. | 40 |
| Rough and strong they are, proud and gay they are. | |
| So this is the way of war … | |
| |
| The train was full and we all shouted as it pulled away. | |
| They sang an old war-song, they were true to themselves, they were gay! | |
| We might have thought they were going for a holiday— | 45 |
| |
| Except for something in the air, | |
| Except for the weeping of the ruddy old women of Finistère. | |
| The younger women do not weep. They dream and stare. | |
| |
| They seem to be walking in dreams. They seem not to know | |
| It is their homes, their happiness, vanishing so. | 50 |
| (Every strong man between twenty and forty must go.) | |
| |
| They sang an old war-song. I have heard it often in other days, | |
| But never before when War was walking the world’s highways. | |
| They sang, they shouted, the Marseillaise! | |
| |
| The train went and another has gone, but none, coming, has brought word. | 55 |
| Though you may know, you, out in the world, we have not heard, | |
| We are not sure that the great battalions have stirred— | |
| |
| Except for something, something in the air, | |
| Except for the weeping of the wild old women of Finistère. | |
| How long will the others dream and stare? | 60 |
| |
| The train went. The strong men of this region are all away, afar. | |
| Rough and strong they are, proud and gay they are. | |
| So this is the way of war … | |
| |
