The Swan Of Dijon

I was in Dijon when the war's wild blast Was at its loudest; when there was no sound From dawn to dawn, save soldiers marching past, Or rattle of their wagons in the street. When every engine whistle would repeat Persistently, with meaning tense, profound, 'We carry men to slaughter' or 'we bring Remnants of men back as war's offering.' And there in Dijon, the out-gazing eye Grew weary of the strife-suggesting scene; But, searching, found one quiet spot hard by Where war was not; a little lake whereon Moved leisurely a stately, tranquil swan, Majestic and imposing, yet serene. I was in Dijon, when no sound or sight Woke thoughts of peace, save this one speck of white, Sailing 'neath skies of menace, unafraid While silver fountains for his pleasure played. Dear Swan of Dijon, it was your good part To rest a tired heart.