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THE EVERYDAY OF WAR
{Hospital, Versailles, November, 1915.)
A hand is crippled, a leg is gone,
And fighting's past for me, The empty hours crawl slowly on ;
How they flew where I used to be ! Empty hours in the empty days,
And empty months crawl by, The brown battalions go their way
And here at the Base I lie !
I dream of the grasses the dew-drops drench,
And the earth with the soft rain wet,
I dream of the curve of a winding trench,
And a loop-holed parapet;
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