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IRDS stayed not their singing,
The heart its beating,
The blood its steady coursing.
The child in the dark womb
Stirred; dust settled in the tomb.
Old wounds were still smarting,
Echoes were hollow-sounding,
New desires still upspringing.
No silent Armistice might stay
Life and Death, wrangling in the old way.
Earth's pulse still was beating,
The bright stars circling;
Only our tongues were hushing.
While Time ticked silent on, men drew
A deeper breath than passion knew.
Index to poems in the collection by
H O M E
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