Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/69

Rh

battery grides and jingles,

Mile succeeds to mile;

Shaking the noonday sunshine,

The guns lunge out a while

And then are still a while.

We amble along the highway;

The reeking, powdery dust

Ascends and cakes our faces,

With a striped, sweaty crust.

Under the still sky's violet

The heat throbs in the air

The white road's dusty radiance,

Assumes a dark glare.

With a head hot and heavy,

And eyes that cannot rest,

And a black heart burning

In a stifled breast,

I sit in the saddle,

I feel the road unroll,

And keep my senses straightened

Toward to-morrow's goal.

There over unknown meadows,

Which we must reach at last,

Day and night thunders

A black and chilly blast.