The Wife

"Tell Annie I'll be home in time      To help her with her Christmas-tree."      That's what he wrote, and hark! the chime      Of Christmas bells, and where is he?      And how the house is dark and sad,      And Annie's sobbing on my knee!      The page beside the candle-flame      With cruel type was overfilled;      I read and read until a name      Leapt at me and my heart was stilled:      My eye crept up the column - up      Unto its hateful heading: Killed.      And there was Annie on the stair:      "And will he not be long?" she said.      Her eyes were bright and in her hair      She'd twined a bit of riband red;      And every step was daddy's sure,      Till tired out she went to bed.      And there alone I sat so still,      With staring eyes that did not see;      The room was desolate and chill,      And desolate the heart of me;      Outside I heard the news-boys shrill:      "Another Glorious Victory!"      A victory. . . . Ah! what care I?      A thousand victories are vain.      Here in my ruined home I cry      From out my black despair and pain,      I'd rather, rather damned defeat,      And have my man with me again.      They talk to us of pride and power,      Of Empire vast beyond the sea;      As here beside my hearth I cower,      What mean such words as these to me?      Oh, will they lift the clouds that low'r,      Or light my load in years to be?      What matters it to us poor folk?      Who win or lose, it's we who pay.      Oh, I would laugh beneath the yoke      If I had him at home to-day;      One's home before one's country comes:      Aye, so a million women say.      "Hush, Annie dear, don't sorrow so."      (How can I tell her?) "See, we'll light      With tiny star of purest glow      Each little candle pink and white."      (They make mistakes. I'll tell myself      I did not read that name aright.)      Come, dearest one; come, let us pray      Beside our gleaming Christmas-tree;      Just fold your little hands and say      These words so softly after me:      "God pity mothers in distress,      And little children fatherless."      "God pity mothers in distress,      And little children fatherless."          .    .    .    .    .      What's that? - a step upon the stair;      A shout! - the door thrown open wide!      My hero and my man is there,      And Annie's leaping by his side. . . .      The room reels round, I faint, I fall. . . .      "O God! Thy world is glorified."