Under the ruins, under the hedge, Cheek by cheek at the forest-edge ; Back to breast, three men deep,
Hearing not bugle or drum. In the desperate trench they died to keep. Under the starry dome they sleep,
Murmuring, "Brothers, come!"
This way ! I heard a call
Like a stag's when he dies. Under the willows I saw him fall.
Under the willows he lies. Give me your hand. Raise him up.
Lift his head. Strike a light. This morning we shared a crust and a cup.
He wants no supper to-night. Take his feet. Here the shells
Broke all day long, Moaning and shrieking hell's
Bacchanalian song ! Last night he helped me bear
i\Ien to hell's feting. To-morrow, maybe, somewhere,
We, too, shall lie waiting.
Pyres in the night, in the night ! Weary and sick and dumb,
�� �
