It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell
With a thousand fears that vision’s face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan
“Strange, friend,” I said, “Here is no cause to mourn.”
“None,” said the other, “Save the undone years
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair
But mocks the steady running of the hour
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here
For by my glee might many men have laughed
And of my weeping something has been left
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold
The pity of war, the pity war distilled
Now men will go content with what we spoiled
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were
“I am the enemy you killed, my friend
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold
Let us sleep now…”
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