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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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