Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
RefugeesGrace Hazard Conkling
“M
The road runs on, so white and far,
We shall not reach the city soon:
Oh, tell me where we are!”
And we shall find the way again:
(God show me the untraveled one!
God give me rest from men!)”
You hurried so to come away.
I saw big soldiers riding by;
I should have liked to stay.”
Just like a soldier, if I can—
They have a song for everything.
Listen, my little man!
We’ll play this is the village street—”
“Yes, but this road is very long,
And stones have hurt my feet.”
And yonder field shall be the town.
I’ll show you how the soldiers do
Who travel up and down.
Not minding all the stones and dust:
They go, (God grant me rest from men!)
Forward, because they must.”
“No, darling! Here is bread to eat!
(O God, if thou couldst let me weep,
Or heal my broken feet!)”