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THE BATTLE
The Wood is very sad to-night.
An hour before the set of sun
The Battle of Raided Flowers was won.
The Battle of Raided Flowers was won.
The lovers of Spring had charged again,
And bruised and crushed and torn and slain.
And bruised and crushed and torn and slain.
The lovers of Spring had come and stayed
Three hours too long in the primrose glade.
Three hours too long in the primrose glade.
Bunches of broken necks were tied
With pieces of string and flung aside.
With pieces of string and flung aside.
The Wood bemoaned her heavy loss
In shattered ferns and wounded moss.
In shattered ferns and wounded moss.
The doves began to think her breast
Unfriendly to their marriage-nest.
Unfriendly to their marriage-nest.
The tiny quadrupeds in fur
Looked up reproachfully at her,
Looked up reproachfully at her,
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As if she had not kept her troth
With children of the undergrowth.
With children of the undergrowth.
The Wind began to shriek, and filled
The air with news: Ten Thousand Killed!
The air with news: Ten Thousand Killed!
The Wood is very sad to-night.
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