Margretta Scott

From “Side-lights on War”

HE was a poet.

And because beauty burned within him

Beauty was around him.

He walked through life on tip-toe, hugging dreams.

In him was a gentle eagerness,

And to him all women were good

And all children beautiful.

The sky was a minstrel ground

And the moon and stars ancient players;

Water sang to him,

And flowers prayed to him.

The day was a packet for delight;

The night a box for beauty.

When the wings of War whizzed in his ears,

He was kindled as with a million torches.

Because he was a poet

He became an aviator.

He rode his bird of War through the clouds,

And the winds wailed before and after him.

One day, as a bright bird falls,

He fell from the sky.

And he died chanting his hymn to War—

And War was beauty.