Page:Where the Dead Men Lie.djvu/180

158 Strangled by thirst and fierce privation— That's how the dead men die! Out on Moneygrub's farthest station— That's how the dead men die! Hardfaced greybeards, youngsters callow; Some mounds cared for, some left fallow; Some deep down, yet others shallow; Some having but the sky.

Moneygrub, as he sips his claret, Looks with complacent eye Down at his watch-chain, eighteen-carat— There, in his club, hard by: Recks not that every link is stamped with Names of the men whose limbs are cramped with Too long lying in grave mould, camped with Death where the dead men lie.