Chapter I: THOUGHT of friendship

As a golden ring, Round as the world Yet fitted to my finger; I thought of friendship As a path in spring Where there are flowers And the footsteps linger; I thought of friendship As a globe of light, Yellow before the doorway of my life, A flame diffused Yet potent against night; I thought--but thought itself in ruin lies Since, yesterday, you passed with lowered eyes!

The Returned Man

THEY thought that he would come back Quieter, Less boyish, But still a hero with tales to tell. So, when there were no tales, Only blank silences-- When he lay for hours Staring through leafing branches And forgot them Utterly-- They tried to arouse him, saying: "The war is over." But when he turned on them His shadowed eyes They stammered-- Knowing that they lied!

Epitaph

(For the unknown soldier buried in Westminster Abbey.)

YOU who died fighting For me and my little children; You who are a million Yet are but one, I lay upon your grave A rose and a tear-- The tear is the world's sorrow, The rose is your joy.

For One Who Went in Spring

SHE did not go, as others do,
With backward look and beckoning;
With no farewell for anything
She passed the open doorway through.

The little things she left behind
Lie where they fell from hands content--
Fame a forgotten incident
And life a season out of mind.

The spring will find her footstep gone,
But spring is kind to vanished things,
Camas and buttercups she brings
With green that tears have brightened on.

And we, who walked with her last year
While April in the lilacs stirred,
Will turn with sudden look or word--
Forgetting that she is not here.

End of Project Gutenberg's Fires of Driftwood, by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay