Cross Roads by Margaret E. Sangster (the little red hen read aloud txt) 📖

nose. . . .

"Here goes!"
Said Peter of Delancey Street.
He saw
A candy store -
A city slum, a girl with plastered hair,
Who waited there. . . .

THEY LAY TOGETHER IN THE SUN - BRAVELY TO THE END,
SIDE BY SIDE, TOGETHER, BEARDED FOE AND FRIEND.
JEAN FROM THE POPPY FIELDS, SIGHING WITH ROMANCE,
JEAN FROM THE LAUGHTER-LILTING FIELDS OF SOUTHERN
FRANCE;
FRITZ FROM A FATHERLAND HE BLINDLY LOVED AND SERVED,
FRITZ, WHOSE FAITH, ALTHOUGH BETRAYED, HAD NEVER
FLINCHED OR SWERVED;
AND PETER, WHOSE TIRED EYES WERE QUESTIONING AND
BROWN,
PETER, FROM DELANCEY STREET, IN NEW YORK TOWN.


JIM-DOG

He wasn't, well, a fancy kind o' dog -
Not Jim!
But, oh, I sorter couldn't seem ter help
A-lovin' him.
He always seemed ter understand.
He'd rub his nose against my hand
If I was feelin' blue or sad.
Or if my thoughts was pretty bad;
An' how he'd bark an' frisk an' play
When I was gay!

A soldier's dog don't have much time ter whine
Like little pets a-howlin' at th' moon.
A soldier's dog is bound ter learn, right soon,
That war is war, an' what a steady line
Of men in khaki means.
(What, dogs don't know?
You bet they do! Jim-dog, he had ter go
Along th' trenches oftentimes at night;
He seemed ter sense it when there was a fight
A-brewin'. Oh, I guess he knew, all right!)
I was a soldier, an' Jim-dog was MINE.

Ah, what's the use?
There never was another dog like him.
Why, on th' march I'd pause an' call - "Hey, Jim!"
An' he'd be there, his head tipped on one side,
A-lookin' up at me with love an' pride,
His tail a-waggin', an' his ears raised high. . . .

I wonder why my Jim-dog had ter die?
He was a friend ter folks; he didn't bite;
He never snapped at no one in th' night;
He didn't hate a soul; an' he was GAME!
An' yet . . . a spark o' light, a dartin' flame
Across th' dark, a sneaky bit o' lead,
An' he was . . . dead!

They say there ain't no heaven-land for him,
'Cause dogs is dogs, an' haven't any right;
But let me tell yer this; without my Jim
Th' very shinin' streets would seem less bright!
An' somehow I'm a-thinkin' that if he
Could come at that last stirrin' bugle call
Up to th' gates o' gold aside of me,
Where God stands smilin' welcome to us all,
An' I said, "Father, here's my dog . . . here's
Jim,"
They'd find some corner, touched with love, fer him!


SIX SONNETS

I. SOMEHOW

Somehow I never thought that you would go,
Not even when red war swept through the land -
I somehow thought, because I loved you so,
That you would stay. I did not understand
That something stronger than my love could come,
To draw you, half-reluctant, from my heart;
I never thought the call of fife and drum
Would rend our cloak of happiness apart!

And yet, you went . . . And I - I did not weep -
I smiled, instead, and brushed the tears aside.
And yet, when night-time comes, I cannot sleep
But silent lie, while longing fights with pride -
YOU ARE MY MAN, THE FOE YOU FIGHT MY FOE,
AND YET - I NEVER THOUGHT THAT YOU WOULD GO!


II. I WONDER

I wonder if you dream, across the night,
When watchfires cut the vivid dark in twain,
Of long dim rooms, and yellow candlelight,
And gardens drenched in vaguely perfumed rain?
I wonder if you think, when shot and shell
And molten fire are singing songs of hate,
Of that last throbbing moment of farewell
When, in your arms, I promised you to wait!

I wonder, should grim death reach out his hand,
And speak, above the strife, of peace and rest;
If you, alone in that dark stranger land,
Would feel again my head upon your breast?
And if, as light and love and living slips,
Your prayer would be my kiss upon your lips. . . .


III. SOME DAY

Some day when on exultant feet you come
Back through the streets that echo at your tread -
My soul will thrill to hear the throbbing drum,
And yet, perhaps, I'll sit with drooping head,
Not caring, quite, to meet your steady gaze,
Not daring, quite, to look into your eyes;
Afraid because a weary stretch of days,
Each one a million years, between us lies.

My heart - my heart is ever yours to hold,
And yet, while I have waited here for you,
You have seen faith betrayed, and brave youth sold,
You have seen meadows drenched in bloody dew -
It may have changed you, and your eyes may be
A little harder when they look at me!


IV. DREAM

Sometimes I dream that you are back with me,
And that with hands together clasped we go
Like little children, young and glad and free,
A-down a magic road we used to know.
Sometimes I dream your eyes upon my face,
And feel your fingers softly touch my hair. . . .
And when I wake from dreaming all the place,
Seems lonelier because you are not there.

What is a dream? Not very much, they say,
An idle vision made in castled Spain -
Well, maybe they are right. . . . And yet, today,
When all the warring world was swept with pain,
The suffering and sorrow ceased to be,
Because I dreamed that you were back with me!


V. UNDERSTANDING

Now, when I stand in some great crowded place,
I see the souls of other women stare
Out of their eyes - And I can glimpse the care
And worry that has banished light and grace
From every life. Upon each woman-face
I see the mark of tears, the hint of prayer
That, one short year ago, had not been there -
I see what time will never quite erase!

Before you left, I did not notice eyes -
Because I knew that I might touch your hand,
I did not dream the dread that swept our land. . .
Ah, dear, the months have made me very wise!
Now, one with everything, I understand,
And heart meets heart and I can sympathize.


VI. THE WAKING

Now war is over and a world set free,
And youth returns, triumphant, to our land -
And dear-heart, you'll be coming back to me,
With eager lips, and tender outstretched hand!
You will be coming as you came of old,
At evening time, with laughter lilting gay;
Glad of the little things that life may hold -
And I will meet you in the self same way. . . .

Yes, in the shadows by my oaken door,
I will be waiting as I used to wait -
And I will feel that you are come, before
I hear the clicking of the garden gate.
And, in the darkness there, my pulse will leap,
Reviving dreams that long have lain asleep!


AFTER PEACE

"I wonder what they're doin' home tonight?"
Jim said -
We sat there, in the yellow firelight,
There, in a house in France -
Some of us, maybe thinkin' of romance -
Some of us missin' buddies who was dead -
And some just dreamin'
Sorter hardly seemin'
Ter make th' dream come clear.

An' then - Jim spoke -
"I wonder what they're doin' home ternight?"
Says Jim -
An' some of us felt, well - as if we'd like
Ter smother him!
An' some of us tried hard-like not ter choke,
Th' smoke
Was pretty thick an' black!
A-thinkin' back,
Across th' ocean I could sort of see
A little house that means just all ter me
And, though nobody said a word I knew
Their thoughts was goin' on th' self-same track -
Thoughts do
Out here, in France.

Home - HOME - No wonder that we all was still -
For one of us was thinkin' of a hill,
With pine trees on it black against th' moon -
And one of us was dreaming of a town,
All drab an' brown -
An' one of us was lookin' - far an' high
Ter some one who had gone back home too soon
To that real home that is beyond the sky.

Nobody of us spoke fer quite a while -
We didn't smile -
We just sat still an' wondered when there'd be
An order for ter send us home -
Back 'crost the sea.
Th' war was won -
An' we was DONE!
We wanted faces that we loved an' knew,
An' voices too -

We sat an' watched th' dancin' fire fling
Its shadders on th' floor -
Bright shapes, an' dim.
An' then Jim coughed as if his throat was sore,
An' - "Say - let's sing!"
Says Jim.


FROM THE DECK OF A TRANSPORT

(A Returning Soldier Speaks)

I am coming back with a singing soul through the
surge of the splendid sea,
Coming back to the land called home, and the love
that used to be -
I am coming back through a flash of spray, through
a conquered tempest's hum,
I am coming back, I am coming back. . . . But,
God, do I want to come?

I have heard the shriek of the great shells speak to
the dawn of a flaming day;
And a growling gun when the fight was won, and the
twilight flickered gray,
I have seen men die with their chins raised high, and
a curse that was half a prayer -
I have fought alone when a comrade's groan was
tense on the blinding air.

I have tramped a road when a burning load was
strapped to my aching