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