Ford Madox Hueffer was born in 1873 and is best known as the author of many novels, two of which, Romance and The Inheritors, were written in collaboration with Joseph Conrad. He has written also several critical studies, those on Rossetti and Henry James being the most notable. His On Heaven and Other Poems appeared in 1916.
CLAIR DE LUNE
I
I should like to imagine
A moonlight in which there would be no machine-guns!
For, it is possible
To come out of a trench or a hut or a tent or a church all in ruins:
To see the black perspective of long avenues
All silent.
The white strips of sky
At the sides, cut by the poplar trunks:
The white strips of sky
Above, diminishing—
The silence and blackness of the avenue
Enclosed by immensities of space
Spreading away
Over No Man's Land....
For a minute ...
For ten ...
There will be no star shells
But the untroubled stars,
There will be no Very light
But the light of the quiet moon
Like a swan.
And silence....
Then, far away to the right thro' the moonbeams
"Wukka Wukka" will go the machine-guns,
And, far away to the left
Wukka Wukka.
And sharply,
Wuk ... Wuk ... and then silence
For a space in the clear of the moon.
II
I should like to imagine
A moonlight in which the machine-guns of trouble
Will be silent....
Do you remember, my dear,
Long ago, on the cliffs, in the moonlight,
Looking over to Flatholme
We sat ... Long ago!...
And the things that you told me ...
Little things in the clear of the moon,
The little, sad things of a life....
We shall do it again
Full surely,
Sitting still, looking over at Flatholme.
Then, far away to the right
Shall sound the Machine Guns of trouble
Wukka-wukka!
And, far away to the left, under Flatholme,
Wukka-wuk!...
I wonder, my dear, can you stick it?
As we should say: "Stick it, the Welch!"
In the dark of the moon,
Going over....
"THERE SHALL BE MORE JOY ..."
The little angels of Heaven
Each wear a long white dress,
And in the tall arcadings
Play ball and play at chess;
With never a soil on their garments,
Not a sigh the whole day long,
Not a bitter note in their pleasure,
Not a bitter note in their song.
But they shall know keener pleasure,
And they shall know joy more rare—
Keener, keener pleasure
When you, my dear, come there.
The little angels of Heaven
Each wear a long white gown,
And they lean over the ramparts
Waiting and looking down.
