I <br />I should like to imagine <br />A moonlight in which there would be no machine-guns! <br /> <br />For, it is possible <br />To come out of a trench or a hut or a tent or a church all in ruins: <br />To see the black perspective of long avenues <br />All silent. <br />The white strips of sky <br />At the sides, cut by the poplar trunks: <br />The white strips of sky <br />Above, diminishing— <br />The silence and blackness of the avenue <br />Enclosed by immensities of space <br />Spreading away <br />Over No Man's Land.... <br /> <br />For a minute... <br />For ten... <br />There will be no star shells <br />But the untroubled stars, <br />There will be no Very light <br />But the light of the quiet moon <br />Like a swan. <br />And silence.... <br /> <br />Then, far away to the right thro' the moonbeams <br />'Wukka Wukka' will go the machine-guns, <br />And, far away to the left <br />“Wukka Wukka”. <br />And sharply, <br />Wuk ... Wuk ... and then silence <br />For a space in the clear of the moon. <br /> <br />II <br />I should like to imagine <br />A moonlight in which the machine-guns of trouble <br />Will be silent.... <br /> <br />Do you remember, my dear, <br />Long ago, on the cliffs, in the moonlight, <br />Looking over to Flatholme <br />We sat ... Long ago!... <br />And the things that you told me... <br />Little things in the clear of the moon, <br />The little, sad things of a life.... <br /> <br />We shall do it again <br />Full surely, <br />Sitting still, looking over at Flatholme. <br /> <br />Then, far away to the right <br />Shall sound the Machine Guns of trouble <br />Wukka-wukka! <br />And, far away to the left, under Flatholme, <br />Wukka-wuk!... <br /> <br />I wonder, my dear, can you stick it? <br />As we should say: 'Stick it, the Welch!' <br />In the dark of the moon, <br />Going over....<br /><br />Ford Madox Ford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/claire-de-lune-2/
