Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/261

 Rh KINGS

EFORE, before he was aware

The "Verey" light had risen on the air

It hung glistering

And he could not stay his hand

From moving to the barbed wire's broken strand.

A rifle cracked.

He fell.

Night waned. He was alone. A heavy shell

Whispered itself passing high, high overhead.

His wound was wet to his hand: for still it bled

On to the glimmering ground.

Then with a slow, vain smile his wound he bound,

Knowing, of course, he'd not see home again—

Home whose thought he put away.

His men

Whispered: "Where's Mister Gates?" "Out on the wire."

"I'll get him," said one

Dawn blinked, and the fire

Of the Germans heaved up and down the line.

"Stand to!"