barren leagues of stubble that my lonely feet have passed,
I shall spike the door and journey towards the Channel lights of Dover--
That England may receive my dreams and bury them at last!

Husbands Over Seas

Each morning they sit down to their little bites of bread,
To six warm bowls of porridge and a broken mug or two.
And each simple soul is happy and each hungry mouth is fed--
Then why should she be smiling as the weary-hearted do?

All day the house has echoed to their tiny, treble laughter
(Six little rose-faced cherubs who trip shouting through the day),
Till the candle lights the cradle and runs dark along the rafter--
Then why should she be watching while the long night wastes away?

She tells them how their daddy has sailed out across the seas,
And they'll be going after when the May begins to bloom.
Oh, they clap their hands together as they cluster round her knees--
Then why should she be weeping as they tumble from the room?

The May has bloomed and withered and the haws are clinging red,
The winter winds are talking in the dead ranks of the trees;
And still she tells of daddy as she tucks each tot in bed--
God pity all dear women who have husbands over seas!

The Country Goes to Town

The Country walked to Town, and what did she find there?
Not a bird nor flower, the trees forsaken were;
The folk were walking two-and-two in every lane and street--
You scarce could hear your neighbour for the racket of their feet.

She could not see the sun shine for dust about the sky;
She could not hear the winds call, the walls went up so high;
And even when the night came to brush aside the day,
She found about the city they were driving it away.

"Then what have you got here?" the Country asked the Town.
"There's not a green leaf anywhere, the world is bleak and brown,
I haven't seen a red cheek nor heard a woman's laughter;
I'm going back to Bird Land, but won't you follow after?"

The Town rode to the Country, and what did she find there?
Just a lot of emptiness, with flowers everywhere.
The birds were screaming overhead, the sun was on her face,
The fences were untidy, and the brambles a disgrace.

"Then what have you got here?" the Town cried in her scorn.
"I haven't met a four-in-hand nor heard a motor horn.
It'll cost a pretty penny to restore my riding clothes,
While my beauty is nigh ruined