Old Moloch walks the way tonight
On Flander's poppied field,
Where foe meets foe in steel and might
And never one shall yield.
...
As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
There passes across my ceiling
An endless panaroma of things--
...
O why are there eyes like these,
That sparkle and dapple and tease,
So wide with the morning, so deep with the night,
Dancing and gleaming in passioned delight?
...
I sometimes wonder if the mighty God
Cares aught about the little deeds of men;
And if their day and time can reach his ken
Or raise their breath above the hungry sod.
...
Never again the sight of her?
Never her winsome smile
Shall light the path of my journeying
O'er many a weary mile?
...
Brother, come!
And let us go unto our God.
And when we stand before Him
I shall say--
...
I would not tarry if I could be gone
Adown the path where calls my eager mind.
That fate which knows naught but to grip and bind
Holds me within its grasp, a helpless pawn,
...
Day passeth day in sunshine or shadow,
Night unto night each cycle is told;
Sun, moon and stars in whirling and glamour,
All unto all the creation unfold.
...
Old November, sere and brown,
Clothes the country, haunts the town,
Sheds its cloak of withered leaves,
Brings its sighing, soughing breeze.
...
Blue eyes, gray eyes,
All the eyes that be,
Hold within their changing depths
Wealth of charm to me.
...