Page:Poems Craik.djvu/42

LOOKING DEATH IN THE FACE.

Y, in thy face, old fellow! Now 's the time.
The Black Sea wind flaps my tent-roof, nor wakes
These lads of mine, who take of sleep their fill,
As if they thought they 'd never sleep again,
Instead of—
Instead of—Pitiless Crimean blast,
How many a howling lullaby thou 'It raise
To-morrow night, all nights till the world's end,
Over some sleepers here!
Over some sleepers here! Some?—who? Dumb Fate
Whispers in no man's ear his coming doom;
Each thinks—"not I—not I."
Each thinks—"not I—not I." But thou, grim Death,
I hear thee on the night-wind flying abroad,
I feel thee here, squatted at our tent-door,
Invisible and incommunicable,
Pointing:
Pointing: "Hurrah!"
Pointing: "Hurrah!"Why yell so in your sleep,
Comrade? Did you see aught?
Comrade? Did you see aught? Well—let him dream:
Who knows, to-morrow such a shout as this