FOR EVERY POEM celebrating war, there are four that are anti-war.

Well, maybe that's not entirely accurate, but it sure seems that poets have strong pacifist tendencies. Amy Lowell was definitely one such poet.

But her poem “September, 1918” is far from being just another anti-war poem. A view from the homefront as opposed to the battlefield and beautiful imagery are not things you find in the quintessential war poem. To us, that makes it even more worthwhile.

Oh, and just so you know, “September, 1918” refers to a span of important Allied victories early in that month during World War I.

“SEPTEMBER, 1918”
by Amy Lowell

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.

For more poems by Amy Lowell, click here.