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1893–1944

II.— THE DAY'S MARCH

Robert Nichols

The battery grides and jingles, Mile succeeds to mile; Shaking the noonday sunshine, The guns lunge out awhile,

And then are still awhile. We amble along the highway; The reeking, powdery dust Ascends and cakes our faces

With a striped, sweaty crust. Under the still sky's violet The heat throbs on the air.... The white road's dusty radiance

Assumes a dark glare. With a head hot and heavy, And eyes that cannot rest, And a black heart burning

In a stifled breast, I sit in the saddle, I feel the road unroll, And keep my senses straightened

Toward to-morrow's goal. There, over unknown meadows Which we must reach at last, Day and night thunders

A black and chilly blast. Heads forget heaviness, Hearts forget spleen, For by that mighty winnowing

Being is blown clean. Light in the eyes again, Strength in the hand, A spirit dares, dies, forgives,

And can understand! And, best! Love comes back again After grief and shame, And along the wind of death

Throws a clean flame. The battery grides and jingles, Mile succeeds to mile; Suddenly battering the silence

The guns burst out awhile. I lift my head and smile.

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II.— THE DAY'S MARCH · Robert Nichols · Poetry Cove