I am the pillars of the house;
The keystone of the arch am I.
Take me away, and roof and wall
Would fall to ruin me utterly.
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
THE Year of the Sorrows went out with great wind:
Lift up, lift up, O broken hearts, your Lord is kind,
God bless the little orchard brown
Where the sap stirs these quickening days.
Soon in a white and rosy gown
The trees will give great praise.
The boys come home, come home from war,
With quiet eyes for quiet things --
A child, a lamb, a flower, a star,
A bird that softly sings.
There's music in my heart all day,
I hear it late and early,
It comes from fields are far away,
The wind that shakes the barley.
For the first time since he was born
Her son, her rose without a thorn,
They are at variance, they who were
Always such closest friends and dear.
He was so foolish, the poor lad,
He made superior people smile
Who knew not of the wings he had
Budding and growing all the while;
CLOUDS is under clouds and rain
For there will not come again
Two, the beloved sire and son
Whom all gifts were rained upon.
The Meuse and Marne have little waves;
The slender poplars o'er them lean.
One day they will forget the graves