At dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun Barrack-square, washed clean with rain, The Boys came back. Bands played and flags were flying, The Come down from heaven to meet me when my breath Dark clouds are smouldering into red Dim, gradual thinning of the shapeless gloom Does it matter?—losing your legs? From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart God with a Roll of Honour in His hand Good-morning; good-morning! the General said Groping along the tunnel, step by step He’d never seen so many dead before He seemed so certain ‘all was going well’ He’s got a Blighty wound. He’s safe Hullo! here’s my platoon, the lot I had last year I am banished from the patient men who fight If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath I found him in the guard-room at the Base I knew a simple soldier boy In fifty years, when peace outshines Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit Moonlight and dew-drenched blossom, and the scent No doubt they’ll soon get well; the shock and strain Not much to me is yonder lane Now light the candles; one; two; there’s a moth October’s bellowing anger breaks and cleaves Pass it along, the wiring party’s going out Ring your sweet bells; but let them be farewells Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake Snug at the club two fathers sat Soldiers are citizens of death’s grey land Splashing along the boggy woods all day There seemed a smell of autumn in the air Tossed on the glittering air they soar and skim We’d gained our first objective hours before Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish you’d say When I’m asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm You love us when we’re heroes, home on leave
