AT CARNOY

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!

July 3rd, 1916.