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The coat without a seam, and other poems cover

The coat without a seam, and other poems

Chapter 17: A REPRISAL
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About This Book

This collection of lyric and narrative poems moves between wartime urgency and reflective peace, offering sonnets, elegies, and short lyrics that interrogate sacrifice, patriotism, and the yearning for reconciliation. Voices range from public banners and martial images to intimate meditations on grief, domestic memory, and nature. Frequent religious and moral imagery frames contemplations of duty, loss, and the possibility of a unified humanity. Formal variety includes sonnet sequences and freer lyrics, often balancing didactic rhetoric with tender observation to consider how communities and individuals reckon with conflict, remembrance, and the promise of healing.

A REPRISAL

At the deep midnight hour
Sleep, that makes all things whole,
Indulged my tortured soul.
In the jewel-chest of dreams
He stirred the elusive gleams,
And found the gift of power,
Round, pure, and perfect power,
And laid it in my hand.
I said: “I have command
Of the Prince of the Power of the Air;
His own wings will I wear!
I will soar as a great hell-kite
To be named The Terror-by-Night,
Over mine enemy’s land.”
At the thought, I rode the sky,
High over the sea, and high
Over field and city and spire;
I laughed; I had my desire.
For I came to mine enemy’s roof,
Safe in a valley aloof,
And I knew, as I poised above,
There lay his Hope and his Love,
The twain that he held most dear,
Nestled with cheeks together,
Roses in summer weather,
Sleeping without a fear.
Gray Memory, close beside,
Couched her old, kindly head.
It was mine to strike them dead,
Even as mine own had died.
I cried with a great voice,
To mine enemy I cried:
“Come forth, come forth, to hear!
Look up, look up, to see!
Lo, what is in my choice!
This deed of black disgrace,
This have you done to me;
This might I do to you;
Yet this I would not do,
Yea, this I could not do!
Let the knowledge smite your pride
Like a gauntlet in the face!”
Mine enemy stood in his gate:
He was sadder than I had thought.
I hated what he had wrought,
But him I could not hate.
His eyes were startled wide.
What would he have replied?
I know not. Ere he spoke,
The merciless morning broke.
Hawkers in sunny streets
Shrilled triumphs and defeats,
Sold horrors and despairs.
Bells called the world to prayers.