Clark Mills
16
PASTORAL FOR POLAND
Now have the cries of bombed and drowned
a gentle, elegaic sound ;
rumor of grief and news of pain
drench the dull mind like autumn rain.
And now the innocent and wise
crouch from the menace of blue skies
till they lie broken, or in flight
towards the ignorant shield of night.
The burning forest of the nations
wheels under the constellations;
the iron birds roar the bomb-routes; deep
in the explosions children sleep.
Together in the cool of day
the placid, great-limbed beasts of prey,
strong at the twilight hour, and feeding,
rend the sweet flesh before them bleeding,
and formless forms in slippers and cowl
watch with the still, round eyes of the owl,
soar from the tree of faith to bless
the perfect act of ruthlessness,
and crickets ring the leafing fire
chirping with terror and desire,
and the rest, under the shadowed hill,
rustle and scurry and are still.
-In the exhausted hour of peace
whom shall we honor among these?
The martyrs bleeding by the wall,
the humble, who cry out and fall,
and these are all, and these are all.
