Page:Soldier poets, songs of the fighting men, 1916.djvu/20

Rh A sky morose, tempestuous, black,

The low horizon misty-wan,

And silent o'er the long, long track

A khaki column trudging on.

Past gaping roofs and tumbled stalls,

Past dismal yards and hovels damp,

Where eyeless windows mock the walls,

They march with hollow-thudding tramp.

Givenchy Field

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