Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/262

 252

Too late! "I'll get him." "O the swine!

When we might get him in yet safe and whole!"

"Corporal didn't see 'un fall out on patrol,

Or he'd 'a got 'un." "Sssh!"

"No talking there."

A whisper: "'A went down at the last flare."

Meanwhile the Maxims toc-toc-tocked; their swish

Of bullets told death lurked against the wish.

No hope for him!

His corporal, as one shamed,

Vainly and helplessly his ill-luck blamed.

Then Gates slowly saw the morn

Break in a rosy peace through the lone thorn

By which he lay, and felt the dawn-wind pass

Whispering through the pallid, stalky grass

Of No-Man's Land. . ..

And the tears came

Scaldingly sweet, more lovely than a flame.

He closed his eyes: he thought of home

And grit his teeth. He knew no help could come. ..

The silent sun over the earth held sway,

Occasional rifles cracked and far away

A heedless speck, a 'plane, slid on alone,

Like a fly traversing a cliff of stone.

"I must get back," said Gates aloud, and heaved

At his body. But it lay bereaved

Of any power. He could not wait till night. ..

And he lay still. Blood swam across his sight.

Then with a groan:

"No luck ever! Well, I must die alone."

Occasional rifles cracked. A cloud that shone,

Gold-rimmed, blackened the sun and then was gone. . ..

The sun still smiled. The grass sang in its play.

Someone whistled: "Over the hills and far away."