Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн)
A Belgian Christmas
The "happy year" of 1914 AN hour from dawn: The snow sweeps on As it swept with sleet last night: The Earth around Breathes never a sound, Wrapped in its shroud of white. A waked cock crows Under the snows; Then silence.— After while The sky grows blue, And a star looks through With a kind o' bitter smile. A whining dog; An axe on a log, And a muffled voice that calls: A cow's long low; Then footsteps slow Stamping into the stalls. A bed of straw Where the wind blows raw Through cracks of the stable door: A child's small cry, A voice nearby, That says, "One mouth the more." A different note In a man's rough throat As he turns at an entering tread — Satyrs! see! "My woman — she Was brought last night to bed!" A cry of "Halt!"— "Ach! ich bin kalt!" "A spy!"—"No."—"That is clear! There's a good shake-down I' the jail in town — For her!" —And then, "My orders here." A shot, sharp-rolled As the clouds unfold: A scream; and a cry forlorn… Clothed red with fire, Like the Heart's Desire, Look down the Christmas Morn. The babe with light Is haloed bright, And it is Christmas Day: A cry of woe; Then footsteps slow, And the wild guns, far away.
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