There was no wind, and yet the air
Seemed suddenly astir;
There were no forms, and yet all space
Seemed thronged with growing hosts.
They came from Where, and from Nowhere,
Like phantoms as they were;
They came from many a land and place -
The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.
And some were white, and some were grey,
And some were red as blood -
Those ghosts of men who met their death
Upon the field of war.
Against the skies of fading day,
Like banks of cloud they stood;
And each wraith asked another wraith,
‘ What were we fighting for?’
One said,‘ I was my mother's all;
And she was old and blind.’
Another,‘ Back on earth, my wife
And week-old baby lie.’
Another,‘ At the bugle's call,
I left my bride behind;
Love made so beautiful my life
I could not bear to die.’
In voices like the winds that moan
Among pine trees at night,
They whispered long, the newly dead,
While listening stars came out.
‘ We wonder if the cause is known,
And if the war was right,
That killed us in our prime,’ they said,
‘ And what it was about.’
They came in throngs that filled all space -
Those whispering phantom hosts;
They came from many a land and place,
The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.