Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/250

 LXXXIX

OU came by last night's mail

To my strange little mud-built house,

At a time when the blues were on my trail

And I'd little to do but grouse.

For the world seemed a-swim with ooze,

With everything going wrong,

And though I knew that we couldn't lose,

Yet the end of it all seemed long.

The sandbag bed felt hard,

And exceedingly cold the rain,

But you sang to me, little green card,

And gave me courage again;

For at sight of the old green back

And the dear familiar crest,

I was off and away on memory's track,

Where Rumbold's Moor stands bleak and black

And the plaintive curlews nest. 208