Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/263

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Gates watched silently the swift, swift sun

Burning his life before it was begun. . ..

Suddenly he heard Corporal Timmins' voice: "Now then,

'Urry up with that tea."

"Hi Ginger!" "Bill!" His men!

Timmins and Jones and Wilkinson (the "bard"),

And Hughes and Simpson. It was hard

Not to see them: Wilkinson, stubby, grim,

With his "No, sir," "Yes, sir," and the slim

Simpson: "Indeed, sir?" (while it seemed he winked

Because his smiling left eye always blinked),

And Corporal Timmins, straight and blond and wise,

With his quiet-scanning, level, hazel eyes;

And all the others. . . tunics that didn't fit. ..

A dozen different sorts of eyes, O it

Was hard to lie there! Yet he must. But no:

"I've got to die, I'll get to them, I'll go."

Inch by inch he fought, breathless and mute,

Dragging his carcase like a famished brute. . ..

His head was hammering, and his eyes were dim;

A bloody sweat seemed to ooze out of him

And freeze along his spine. . . . Then he'd lie still

Before another effort of his will

Took him one nearer yard.

The parapet was reached.

He could not rise to it. A lookout screeched:

Mr. Gates!"

Three figures in one breath

Leaped up. Two figures fell on toppling death;

And Gates was lifted in. "Who's hit?" said he.

"Timmins and Jones." "Why did they that for me?—

I'm gone already!" Gently they laid him prone

And silently watched.

He twitched. They heard him moan

"Why for me?" His eyes roamed round, and none replied.

I see it was alone I should have died."

They shook their heads. Then, "Is the doctor here?"

"He's coming, sir; he's hurryin', no fear."