In a by--street, blocked with rubble br And any--way--tumbled stones, br Between the upstanding house--fronts' br Naked and scorched bones, br br Chinese workmen were clearing br The ruins, dusty and arid. br Dust whitened the motley coats, br Where each his burden carried. br br Silent they glided, all br Save one, who passed me by br With berry--brown high--boned cheeks br And strange Eastern eye. br br And he sang in his outland tongue br Among those ruins drear br A high, sad, half--choked ditty br That no one heeded to hear. br br Was it love, was it grief, that made br For long--dead lips that song? br The desolation of Han br Or the Never--Ending Wrong? br br The Rising Sun and the Setting, br They have seen this all as a scroll br Blood--smeared, that the endless years br For the fame of men unroll. br br It was come from the ends of the earth br And of Time in his ruin gray, br That song,--the one human sound br In the silence of Cambrai.