It rains tonight and wolf-winds howl, And beaten hangs the tree, And comfortless in Death he lies Who comforted should be, The guy who lost And killed himself, And never spoke to me!
Then you’ll go while drums are rolling, And you’ll charge and make the bluff That your heart is full of courage, And you’ll curse the vilest stuff.
And you’ll see a lot of fellows That you’ve never seen before, And they may all be twenty Or one or two years more.
And you’ll briefly talk together, But of what you will not know. There is so much that lads can say When off to war they go.
And you’ll see a lot of fellows When the battle roar is done, Though all are dead upon the field And will not know it’s won.
And the drums will roll on, rolling Till some bullet finds your heart, Then you’ll join the lads before you And you’ll never have to part.
Beautiful pagan, possess me! Over thy body my fingers I race. Hot on thy cheeks are my kisses, Naked with thee in a lovers’ embrace.
Passionate night, And the scents from the orchard Heavily here In thy temple retreat.
Moonlight and marble, Where pillars and shadows Cast thee in twilight,
Beautiful statue, Warm with the warmth Of my body Against thee,
I quiver, I clasp thee And fall at thy feet!
Fountain of loveliness, flowing Deep in a wildwood of aspen and pine, Swanlike forever upon thy calm surface I drift in my nakedness, white in the sun.
O plunge me beneath, Where thy depths are the greenest, Cover my heart, And the secret it keeps!
We drove down the road Like two bats out of Hell, And before us the gates At the rail crossing fell.
But we crashed through the splinters And over the tracks, And the train whistled madly And screamed at our backs.
And we rode on in silence With never a word, And only the wind And the motor were heard.
For a lad lay a-dying That both of us knew, And over the hills To his bedside we flew.
He was dead when we got there, And somehow I know At that curve on the hill With the valley below,
Where the crossing is laid, And that monster of steel, Not my hand, but his Was guiding the wheel.
We did not raise a submarine From the ocean’s fathomed bed, But twenty-six brave sailor lads And all of them were dead. We left them not beneath the sea; We brought them sadly home, To dedicate anew to Death, Who nevermore shall roam.