CHRISTMAS
Thus standing ’fore the German rubble
I meekly sing my Christmas song.
I’ll neither heed nor need to trouble
with all the wide world’s right and wrong.
That’s for others. Laid upon us.
I hum so soft, the sound near gone,
that tune with all its youthful promise:
O Tannenbaum!
Were I Knecht Ruprecht spreading blessings
and saw this pandemonium
—the Germans have no use for lessons—
God knows! I’d turn the way I’d come.
The last of the breadcorn’s falling, blighted.
The alleys bare their teeth and foam.
I’d drape them from your boughs delighted,
O Tannenbaum!
I stare into the candles crackling:
Who holds the guilt that runs so deep?
Who threw us into blood, and cackling?
Us Germans, patient as the sheep?
They do not mourn. They man their station.
I dreamt my dream I thought was gone
Close off and cease their arrogation!
Ignore the scoundrels’ cruel predation!
Then sing with Christmas liberation:
O Tannenbaum! O Tannenbaum!
1918