At the Movies

They swing across the screen in brave array,
      Long British columns grinding the dark grass.
Twelve months ago they marched into the grey
      Of battle; yet again behold them pass!

One lifts his dusty cap; his hair is bright;
      I meet his eyes, eager and young and bold.
The picture quivers into ghostly white;
      Then I remember, and my heart grows cold!

More Poems by Florence Ripley Mastin