But as you fall asleep I hear you say
Those tired sweet drowsy words we left unsaid.
Sleep well: for I can follow you, to bless
And lull your distant beauty where you roam;
And with wild songs of hoarded loveliness
Recall you to these arms that were your home.
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I
In the huge midnight forest of the unknown.Your soul is full of cities with dead names,And blind-faced, earth-bound gods of bronze and stoneWhose priests and kings and lust-begotten lordsWatch the procession of their thundering hosts,Or guard relentless fanes with flickering swordsAnd wizardry of ghosts.IIIn a strange house I woke; heard overheadHastily-thudding feet and a muffled…
I’d been on duty from two till four.
Down in the frowst I heard them snore.‘Stand to!’ Somebody grunted and swore.Dawn was misty; the skies were still;Larks were singing, discordant, shrill;They seemed happy; but I felt ill.Deep in water I splashed my wayUp the trench to our bogged front line.Rain had fallen the whole damned night.O Jesus, send me a wound to-day,And I’ll…
His headstrong thoughts that once in eager strife
Weaving unconscious tapestries of life,Are now thrust inward, dungeoned from the sky.And he who has watched his world and loved it all,Starless and old and blind, a sight for pity,With feeble steps and fingers on the wall,Gropes with his staff along the rumbling city.
Darkness: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep;
When peaceful folk in beds lay snug asleep;There, with much work to do before the light,We lugged our clay-sucked boots as best we mightAlong the trench; sometimes a bullet sang,And droning shells burst with a hollow bang;We were soaked, chilled and wretched, every one;Darkness; the distant wink of a huge gun.I turned in the black…
Quietly they set their burden down: he tried
He gripped the stretcher; stiffened; glared; and screamed,‘O put my leg down, doctor, do!’ (He’d gotA bullet in his ankle; and he’d been shotHorribly through the guts.) The surgeon seemedSo kind and gentle, saying, above that crying,‘Youmustkeep still, my lad.’ But he was dying.
His wet white face and miserable eyes
But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fellHis troubled voice: he did the business well.The ward grew dark; but he was still complainingAnd calling out for ‘Dickie’. ‘Curse the Wood!‘It’s time to go. O Christ, and what’s the good?‘We’ll never take it, and it’s always raining.’I wondered where he’d been; then heard him shout,‘They…