l.
I turned. Across the car were two young men,
Yet hardly more than boys,
French by their look, and brothers,
And one was moaning on the other's breast.
His face was hid away. I could not tell
What words he said, half English and half French. I only knew
Both men were suffering, not one but two.
And then that face came into view,
Gaunt and unshaved, with shadows and wild eyes,
A face of madness and of desolation. And his cries,
For all his mate could do,
Rang out, a shrill and savage noise,
And tears ran down the stubble of his cheek.
The other face was younger, clean and sad
With the manful stricken beauty of a lad
Who had intended always to be glad.
.... The touch of his compassion, like a mother's,
Pitied the madman, soothed him and caressed.
And then I heard him speak,
In a low voice: "Mon frere, mon frere!
Calme-toi! Right here's your place."
And, opening his coat, he pressed
Upon his heart the wanderer's face
And smoothed the tangled hair.
After a moment peaceful there,
The maniac screamed--struck out and fell
Across his brother's arm. Love could not quell
His anger. Wrists together high in air
He rose and with a yell
Brought down his handcuffs toward his brother's face--
But his hands were pinned below his waist,
By a burly, silent sheriff, and some hideous thing was bound
Around his arms and feet
And he was laid upon the narrow seat.
And then that sound,
That moan
Of one forsaken and alone!
"Seigneur! Le createur du ciel et de la terre!
Forgotten me! Forgotten me!"
.... And when the voice grew weak
The brother leaned again, embraced
The huddled body. But a shriek
Repulsed him: "Non! Detache-moi! I don't care
For you. Non! Tu es l'homme qui m'a trahi!
Non! Tu n'es pas mon frere!"

But as often as that stricken mind would fill
With the great anguish and the rush of hate,
The boy, his young eyes older, older,
Would curve his shoulder
To the other's pain and hold that haunted face close to his face
And say: "O wait!
You will know me better by and by.
Mon pauvre petit, be still!
Right here's your place."
.... The gleam! and then the blinded stare,
The cry:
"Non, tu n'es pas mon frere!"

I saw myself, myself, as blind
As he. And something smothers
My reason. And I do not know my brothers....
But every day declare:
"Non, tu n'es pas mon frere!"

But in