The Pity Of The Dead

      Adown a road in Picardy
      Where War has wed Romance,
      There came a ghost of Germany
      To greet a wraith of France.
And each shade held in glowing eyes the wisdom of the Tomb
The Light he ceded Paradise when entering the womb.

      Quoth Franz : "I waked at De La Haye
      "To see my body red,
      "A ghastly blot upon the clay
      "And knew that it was dead.
And iron wrought by the pulseless hand was chambered in the heart;
"Iron traded by the Fatherland upon the alien mart!"

      Said Jules : "At Carcassone I sought
      "The vineyard of my pride,
      "The hearth of love wherefor I fought,
      "The wife for whom I died.
"But strangers pressed the grapes' red blood, for all of mine were fled,
"And Julie by the cross-roads stood, to bed our babies' bread."

      Said they : "All paths of Picardy
      "Are slimy with our slain,
      "Who sowed in mart and factory
      "The fruit we reaped in pain;
"For whether war shall strike again, or all warfare shall cease,
"All wars are born of Greed for Gain along the paths of Peace."

      Adown the roads of Picardy,
      Where War has wed Romance,
      Come phantoms out of Germany
      To greet the shades of France.
They do not mourn each others' woes, these wraiths of men who bled,
But out to all the living flows the Pity of the Dead.