BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS

     
     
           Of old with a divided heart
       I saw my people's pride expand,
     Since a man's soul is torn apart
       By mother earth and fatherland.
           I knew, through many a tangled tale,
       Glory and truth not one but two:
     King, Constable, and Amirail
       Took me like trumpets: but I knew
           A blacker thing than blood's own dye
       Weighed down great Hawkins on the sea;
     And Nelson turned his blindest eye
       On Naples and on liberty.
           Therefore to you my thanks, O throne,
       O thousandfold and frozen folk,
     For whose cold frenzies all your own
       The Battle of the Rivers broke;
           Who have no faith a man could mourn.
       Nor freedom any man desires;
     But in a new clean light of scorn
       Close up my quarrel with my sires;
           Who bring my English heart to me,
       Who mend me like a broken toy;
     Till I can see you fight and flee,
       And laugh as if I were a boy.
     
           THE WIFE OF FLANDERS
     
           Low and brown barns thatched and repatched and tattered
       Where I had seven sons until to-day,
     A little hill of hay your spur has scattered....
       This is not Paris. You have lost the way.
           You, staring at your sword to find it brittle,
       Surprised at the surprise that was your plan,
     Who shaking and breaking barriers not a little
       Find never more the death-door of Sedan.
           Must I for more than carnage call you claimant,
       Paying you a penny for each son you slay?
     Man, the whole globe in gold were no repayment
       For what you have lost. And how shall I repay?
           What is the price of that red spark that caught me
       From a kind farm that never had a name?
     What is the price of that dead man they brought me?
       For other dead men do not look the same.
           How should I pay for one poor graven steeple
       Whereon you shattered what you shall not know,
     How should I pay you, miserable people?
       How should I pay you everything you owe?34
           Unhappy, can I give you back your honour?
       Though I forgave would any man forget?
     While all the great green land has trampled on her
       The treason and terror of the night we met.
           Not any more in vengeance or in pardon
       An old wife bargains for a bean that's hers.
     You have no word to break: no heart to harden.
       Ride on and prosper. You have lost your spurs.