At Carnoy
Down in the hollow there’s the whole Brigade
Camped in four groups: through twilight falling slow
I hear a sound of mouth—organs, ill—played,
And murmur of voices, gruff, confused, and low.
Crouched among thistle—tufts I’ve watched the glow
Of a blurred orange sunset flare and fade;
And I’m content. To—morrow we must go
To take some cursèd Wood ... O world God made!
(1916)
#EnglishWriters 1916 3rd, July
