RadiantMoon
About Me:
<b
>a Portrait in the guards*</b>
So these two faced each other there,<br>The artist and his model<br> Bot In uniform.<br>Years back. In training.<br>Not combatant yet. But both aware Of what the word meant. <br> Not complaining, <br> But, inwardly, how loth. <br>
They talkied of this, perhaps. <br>Each knew The other, or himself, might be Unlucky. <br>But each knew this true Of anyone at all. <br> And so tThere was no thrill in it. <br> A knee ligged to the hit-tune of some show. <br>
Each scrutinized the other frankly, <br>AS only painter and sitter do:
Objectively and leisure. <br> FAce That must not, please, relax too blanky Into repose, <br> And face that threw Glances <br>, the brush being posed space. <br>
So both, it may be, <br> had the sense Of seeing suddenly very plain <br>
A very obvious thing: the immense Threness of someone else; <br> a man Once only, <br>since the world began. <br> Never before, and never again.
<br>
It could be, while a cigarette Hung grey, <br>each recognized the other
As valid utterly and brother. <br> It should be so.. <br>Because, of all Who in that mess-tent shortly met,, <br> These would be first to fall <br>
Lawrence Whistler 1912