Life, 1918-02-14 · page 7 of 40
Life — February 14, 1918 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains Valentine's Day poetry and a wartime illustration, likely from World War I era (given references to France and combat). The illustration titled "THE FINISHING TOUCH TO AN EARLY PURITAN VALENTINE" shows what appears to be soldiers or men in a trench or fortification, suggesting romantic sentiment amid military conflict—a pointed irony about Valentine's Day during wartime. The poems "On St. Valentine's Eve" (by Clinton Scollard) and "The Last Honors" (by Charlotte Becker) contrast romantic Spring imagery with brutal war realities: mass, death, mud, cannon fire, and soldiers returning to combat. The final excerpt ("Here") questions whether Biblical times will return, referencing the Book of Revelation—possibly expressing anxiety about civilization's collapse amid the war's devastation. The overall satire juxtaposes love and death, highlighting wartime's darkly ironic timing.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
On St. Valentine’s Eve HEAR to-night behind the hill The first clear vernal throb and thrill, The first fair vernal sign, And know Spring comes to work her will, The earth's sweet Valentine! Soon she will sweep across the slopes, Her fardel full of flowery hopes, A marvelment to se Her voice atune to trills and tropes In golden harmony! And she will bring, oh, she will bring The crimson breast, the tawny wing, And flawless skies abov And for my lip—divinest thing— The sacrament of love! Clinton Scollard. The Last Honors SHRAPNEL-BATTE, A priest in shabby velvet, droning mass; A gray-blue throng who sorrowfully pass, Saluting silently the quiet dead And following with sombre, mufiled tread When corporals shoulder through the muddy grass The coffin, where, across sword and cuirass, The undefeated flag of France is spread. The distant cannon grunt; the bullets whine; Shells straggle past, their moaning never still Above the shallow grave his soldiers fill With yellow clods and pungent, crackling pine; Then, “ Bonne nuit; au voir, mon capitaine,” They say, as each goes back to fight again Charlotte Becker. 2D, windy, wooden shed ; Ser Poe ZO H Shore | THE FINISHING TOUCH TO AN EARLY PURITAN VALENTINE Here “IT WONDER if the old Bible times will ever come back.” “ Aren't we now living in Revelations?” comicbooks.com