Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/110

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( 1917)

ROPING along the tunnel step by step,

He winked his prying torch with patching glare

From side to side, and sniffed the unwholesome air.

Tins, bottles, boxes, shapes too vague to know,—

A mirror smashed, the mattress from a bed;

And he, exploring, fifty feet below

The rosy gloom of battle overhead.

Tripping, he grabbed the wall; saw some one lie

Humped and asleep, half-hidden by a rug;

And stooped to give the sleeper's arm a tug.

"I'm looking for Headquarters."

No reply

"God blast your neck" (for days he'd had no sleep),

"Get up and guide me through this stinking place."

Then, with a savage kick at the silent heap,

He flashed his beam across a livid face 68