Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
III. WarDriving Home the Cows
Kate Putnam Osgood (1842c. 1912)O
He turned them into the river-lane;
One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow bars again.
He patiently followed their sober pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sunny face.
He never could let his youngest go;
Two already were lying dead
Under the feet of the trampling foe.
And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp,
Over his shoulder he slung his gun
And stealthily followed the foot-path damp,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
And the blind bat’s flitting startled him.
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;
And now, when the cows came back at night,
The feeble father drove them home.
That three were lying where two had lain;
And the old man’s tremulous, palsied arm
Could never lean on a son’s again.
He went for the cows when the work was done;
But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
He saw them coming one by one,—
Shaking their horns in the evening wind;
Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,—
But who was it following close behind?
The empty sleeve of army blue;
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,
Looked out a face that the father knew.
And yield their dead unto life again;
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.
For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb;
And under the silent evening skies
Together they followed the cattle home.