But I was Looking at the Permanent Stars

Bugles sang, saddening the evening air,

And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear.

Voices of boys were by the river-side.

Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.

The shadow of the morrow weighed on men.

Voices of old despondency resigned,

Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept.

dying tone

Of receding voices that will not return.

The wailing of the high far-travelling shells

And the deep cursing of the provoking

The monstrous anger of our taciturn guns.

The majesty of the insults of their mouths.