Spring in War Time

by Sara Teasdale

I feel the Spring far off, far off,
  The faint far scent of bud and leaf—
Oh how can Spring take heart to come
  To a world in grief,
    Deep grief?

The sun turns north, the days grow long,
  Later the evening star grows bright—
How can the daylight linger on
  For men to fight,
    Still fight?

The grass is waking in the ground,
  Soon it will rise and blow in waves—
How can it have the heart to sway
  Over the graves,
    New graves?

Under the boughs where lovers walked
  The apple-blooms will shed their breath—
But what of all the lovers now
  Parted by death,
    Gray Death?

Monadnock Valley Press > Teasdale