The Swan Of Dijon

I was in Dijon when the war's wild blast     Was at its loudest; when there was no sound     From dawn to dawn, save soldiers marching past,     Or rattle of their wagons in the street.     When every engine whistle would repeat     Persistently, with meaning tense, profound,     'We carry men to slaughter' or 'we bring     Remnants of men back as war's offering.'     And there in Dijon, the out-gazing eye     Grew weary of the strife-suggesting scene;     But, searching, found one quiet spot hard by     Where war was not; a little lake whereon     Moved leisurely a stately, tranquil swan,     Majestic and imposing, yet serene.     I was in Dijon, when no sound or sight     Woke thoughts of peace, save this one speck of white,     Sailing 'neath skies of menace, unafraid     While silver fountains for his pleasure played.     Dear Swan of Dijon, it was your good part     To rest a tired heart.