The One At Home

Don told me that he loved me dear Where down the range Whioola pours; And when I laughed and would not hear He flung away to fight the wars. He flung away—how should he know My foolish heart was dancin' so? How should he know that at his word My soul was trillin' like a bird? He went out in the cannon smoke. He did not seek to ask me why. Again each day my poor heart broke To see the careless post go by. I cared not for their Emperors— For me there was this in the wars; My brown boy in the shell-clouds dim, And savage devils killin' him! They told me on the field he fell, And far they bore him from the fight, But he is whole—he will be well Now in a ward by day and night A fair, tall nurse with slim, neat hands By his white bedside smilin' stands; His brow with trailin fingertips She soothes, and damps his fevered lips! I know her not, but I can see How blue her great eyes are, and hear The cooin' of her voice as she Speaks gentle comfort to my dear; With love as sweet as mother's care She heals his wounds, she strokes his hair… O God, could I but let him see The hate of her consumin' me!