Suddenly night crushed out the day… Her remnants over cloud—peaks, thu… Then fell a stillness such as hark… When far—gone dead return upon the… There watched I for the Dead; but…
Leaves Murmuring by miriads in the shimme… Lives Wakening with wonder in the Pyren… Birds
My arms have mutinied against me —… My fingers fidget like ten idle br… My back’s been stiff for hours, da… Death never gives his squad a Sta… I can’t read. There: it’s no use.…
We’d found an old Boche dug—out,… And gave us hell, for shell on fra… Hammered on top, but never quite b… Rain, guttering down in waterfalls… Kept slush waist high, that rising…
Halted against the shade of a last… They fed, and, lying easy, were at… And, finding comfortable chests an… Carelessly slept. But many there… To face the stark, blank sky beyon…
'O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,' he sa… Whether he vainly cursed, or praye… The Bullets chirped —In vain! vai… Machine—guns chuckled, —Tut—tut!… And the Big Gun guffawed.
I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair. Along the wharves by the water—hou… And through the cavernous slaughte… I am the shadow that walks there. Yet I have flesh both firm and co…
This book is not about heroes. En… of them. Nor is it about deeds or… dominion or power, except War. Above all, this book is not concer…
The beautiful, the fair, the elega… Is that which pleases us, says Ka… Without a thought of interest or a… I used to watch men when they spok… And measure their enthusiasm. One
In twos and threes, they have not… Crowds that thread eastward, gay o… Those seek no further than their q… Wives, walking westward, slow and… Neither should I go fooling over…
Our brains ache, in the merciless… Wearied we keep awake because the… Low drooping flares confuse our me… Worried by silence, sentries whisp… But nothing happens.
A dismal fog—hoarse siren howls at… I watch the man it calls for, push… Backwards and forwards, helpless a… But I’m lazy, and his work’s craz… Quick treble bells begin at nine o…
Move him into the sun— Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unso… Always it awoke him, even in Fran… Until this morning and this snow.
The roads also have their wistful… When the weathercocks perch still… And the looks of men turn kind to… And the trams go empty to their dr… The streets also dream their dream…
Down the close, darkening lanes th… To the siding-shed, And lined the train with faces gri… Their breasts were stuck all white… As men’s are, dead.