Camp Follower's Song, Gomal River

   Along the hot and endless road,
     Calm and erect, with haggard eyes,
   The prisoner bore his fetters' load
     Beneath the scorching, azure skies.

   Serene and tall, with brows unbent,
     Without a hope, without a friend,
   He, under escort, onward went,
     With death to meet him at the end.

   The Poppy fields were pink and gay
     On either side, and in the heat
   Their drowsy scent exhaled all day
     A dream-like fragrance almost sweet.

   And when the cool of evening fell
     And tender colours touched the sky,
   He still felt youth within him dwell
     And half forgot he had to die.

   Sometimes at night, the Camp-fires lit
     And casting fitful light around,
   His guard would, friend-like, let him sit
     And talk awhile with them, unbound.

   Thus they, the night before the last,
     Were resting, when a group of girls
   Across the small encampment passed,
     With laughing lips and scented curls.

   Then in the Prisoner's weary eyes
     A sudden light lit up once more,
   The women saw him with surprise,
     And pity for the chains he bore.

   For little women reck of Crime
     If young and fair the criminal be
   Here in this tropic, amorous clime
     Where love is still untamed and free.

   And one there was, she walked less fast,
     Behind the rest, perhaps beguiled
   By his lithe form, who, as she passed,
     Waited a little while, and smiled.

   The guard, in kindly Eastern fashion,
     Smiled to themselves, and let her stay.
   So tolerant of human passion,
     "To love he has but one more day."

   Yet when (the soft and scented gloom
     Scarce lighted by the dying fire)
   His arms caressed her youth and bloom,
     With him it was not all desire.

   "For me," he whispered, as he lay,
     "But little life remains to live.
   One thing I crave to take away:
     You have the gift; but will you give?

   "If I could know some child of mine
     Would live his life, and see the sun
   Across these fields of poppies shine,
     What should I care that mine is done?

   "To die would not be dying quite,
     Leaving a little life behind,
   You, were you kind to me to-night,
     Could grant me this; but—are you kind?

   "See, I have something here for you
     For you and It, if It there be."
   Soft in the gloom her glances grew,
     With gentle tears he could not see.

   He took the chain from off his neck,
     Hid in the silver chain there lay
   Three rubies, without flaw or fleck.
     She answered softly "I will stay."

   He drew her close; the moonless skies
     Shed little light; the fire was dead.
   Soft pity filled her youthful eyes,
     And many tender things she said.

   Throughout the hot and silent night
     All that he asked of her she gave.
   And, left alone ere morning light,
     He went serenely to the grave,

   Happy; for even when the rope
     Confined his neck, his thoughts were free,
   And centered round his Secret Hope
     The little life that was to be.

   When Poppies bloomed again, she bore
     His child who gaily laughed and crowed,
   While round his tiny neck he wore
     The rubies given on the road.

   For his small sake she wished to wait,
     But vainly to forget she tried,
   And grieving for the Prisoner's fate,
     She broke her gentle heart and died.

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