Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/149

 Under the ruins, under the hedge, Cheek by cheek at the forest-edge ; Back to breast, three men deep,

Hearing not bugle or drum. In the desperate trench they died to keep. Under the starry dome they sleep,

Murmuring, "Brothers, come!"

This way ! I heard a call

Like a stag's when he dies. Under the willows I saw him fall.

Under the willows he lies. Give me your hand. Raise him up.

Lift his head. Strike a light. This morning we shared a crust and a cup.

He wants no supper to-night. Take his feet. Here the shells

Broke all day long, Moaning and shrieking hell's

Bacchanalian song ! Last night he helped me bear

i\Ien to hell's feting. To-morrow, maybe, somewhere,

We, too, shall lie waiting.

Pyres in the night, in the night ! Weary and sick and dumb,

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