Explore "The Swan of Dijon" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I was in Dijon when the war's wild blast / Was at its loudest; when there was no sound / From dawn to dawn, save soldiers marching past, / Or rattle of their wagons in the street. / When every engine whistle would repeat / Persistently, with meaning tense, profound, / ‘We carry men to slaughter' or ‘we bring / Remnants of men back as war's offering.'
And there in Dijon, the out-gazing eye / Grew weary of the strife-suggesting scene; / But, searching, found one quiet spot hard by / Where war was not; a little lake whereon / Moved leisurely a stately, tranquil swan, / Majestic and imposing, yet serene.
I was in Dijon, when no sound or sight / Woke thoughts of peace, save this one speck of white, / Sailing 'neath skies of menace, unafraid / While silver fountains for his pleasure played. / Dear Swan of Dijon, it was your good part / To rest a tired heart.