Main Street, and Other Poems

Mid-ocean in War-time

(For My Mother)

 The fragile splendour of the level sea,
  The moon's serene and silver-veiled face,
  Make of this vessel an enchanted place
 Full of white mirth and golden sorcery.
 Now, for a time, shall careless laughter be
  Blended with song, to lend song sweeter grace,
  And the old stars, in their unending race,
 Shall heed and envy young humanity.

 And yet to-night, a hundred leagues away,
  These waters blush a strange and awful red.
 Before the moon, a cloud obscenely grey
  Rises from decks that crash with flying lead.
 And these stars smile their immemorial way
  On waves that shroud a thousand newly dead!