Died of Wounds

HIS wet, white face and miserable eyes
Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:

But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell
His troubled voice: he did the business well.

The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining, And 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 snipe like hell! O Dickie, don't go out" I fell alseep next morning he was dead; 'And some Slight Wound lay smiling on his bed.

The Hero

"JACK fell as he'd have wished," the Mother said, And folded up the letter that she'd read.

"The Colonel writes so nicely." Something broke In the tired voice that quavered to a choke.

She half looked up. "We mothers are so proud "Of our dead soldiers." Then her face was bowed.

Quietly the Brother Officer went out.

He'd told the poor old dear some gallant lies
That she would nourish all her days, no doubt.
For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes
Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy,
Because he'd been so brave, her glorious boy.

He thought how "Jack," cold-footed, useless swine,
Had panicked down the trench that night the mine
Went up at Wicked Corner; how he'd tried
To get sent home; and how, at last, he died,
Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care
Except that lonely woman with white hair.

Stretcher Case

[TO EDWARD MARSH]

HE Woke: the clank and racket of the train
Kept time with angry throbbings in his brain.
Then for a while he lapsed and drowsed again.

At last he lifted his bewildered eyes

And blinked, and rolled them sidelong; hills and

Heavily wooded, hot with August haze,
And, slipping backward, golden for his gaze,
Acres of harvest.

Feebly now he drags

Exhausted ego back from glooms and quags
And blasting tumult, terror, hurtling glare,
To calm and brightness, havens of sweet air.

skies,

He sighed, confused; then drew a cautious breath; This level journeying was no ride through death. "If I were dead," he mused, "there'd be no

thinking

"Only some plunging underworld of sinking,
"And hueless, shifting welter where I'd drown."

Then he remembered that his name was Brown.

But was he back in Blighty? Slow he turned,
Till in his heart thanksgiving leapt and burned.
There shone the blue serene, the prosperous land,
Trees, cows and hedges; skipping these, he scanned
Large, friendly names that change not with the year,
Lung Tonic, Mustard, Liver Pills and Beer.

Conscripts

"FALL in, that awkward squad, and strike no more "Attractive attitudes! Dress by the right!

"The luminous rich colours that you wore "Have changed to hueless khaki in the night. "Magic? What's magic got to do with you? "There's no such thing! Blood's red and skies are

blue."

They gasped and sweated, marching up and down.
I drilled them till they cursed my raucous shout.
Love chucked his lute away and dropped his crown.
Rhyme got sore heels and wanted to fall out.
"Left, right! Press on your butts!" They looked

Reproachful; how I longed to set them free!

at me