Quietly they set their burden down: he tried To grin; moaned; moved his head from side to side.
He gripped the stretcher; stiffened; glared; and screamed, "O put my leg down, doctor, do!" (He'd got A bullet in his ankle; and he'd been shot Horribly through the guts.) The surgeon seemed So kind and gentle, saying, above that crying, "You _must_ keep still, my lad." But he was dying.
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 asleep ... next morning he was dead; And some Slight Wound lay smiling on his bed.
The Bishop tells us: "When the boys come back They will not be the same; for they'll have fought In a just cause: they lead the last attack On Anti-Christ; their comrade's blood has bought New right to breed an honourable race. They have challenged Death and dared him face to face."
"We're none of us the same!" the boys reply. "For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind; Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die; And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find A chap who's served that hasn't found _some_ change." And the Bishop said; "The ways of God are strange!"
If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath, I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death. You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel, Reading the Roll of Honour. "Poor young chap," I'd say--"I used to know his father well; Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap." And when the war is done and youth stone dead, I'd toddle safely home and die--in bed.
I found him in a guard-room at the Base. From the blind darkness I had heard his crying And blundered in. With puzzled, patient face A sergeant watched him; it was no good trying To stop it; for he howled and beat his chest. And, all because his brother had gone West, Raved at the bleeding war; his rampant grief Moaned, shouted, sobbed, and choked, while he was kneeling Half-naked on the floor. In my belief Such men have lost all patriotic feeling.