Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet in the Battlefield to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
The regiment marched homeward through the golden autumn fields,
With their boots worn thin and their hearts made high by the peace the harvest yields.
The villagers came out in crowds with garlands and with song,
And the church bells rang for every man who had been away so long.
But the soldiers looked at the empty spots where their comrades used to stand,
And they laid the flowers on the ground with a gentle, trembling hand.
They had left as boys and come back men, with stories they would keep,
And a tenderness for every day, and a longing for sweet sleep.
At the door of his old cottage, the last soldier stopped to pray,
And he whispered, thank you, Lord, for bringing me home to stay.
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Commentary
This poem ends the volume’s battles with a homecoming. The regiment returns through autumn fields, and the joy of arrival is mixed with the memory of those who did not come back.
The regiment “marched homeward through the golden autumn fields,” their “boots worn thin.” The villagers come “with garlands and with song,” and “the church bells rang for every man.” But the soldiers look “at the empty spots where their comrades used to stand” and lay flowers down “with a gentle, trembling hand.”
“They had left as boys and come back men,” with “a tenderness for every day.” At the last cottage door, the final soldier “stopped to pray” and whispers, “thank you, Lord, for bringing me home to stay.”