* WAR *

A tent that is pitched at the base: A wagon that comes from the night: A stretcher — and on it a Case: A surgeon, who's holding a light.

The Infantry's bearing the brunt — O hark to the wind-carried cheer! A mutter of guns at the front: A whimper of sobs at the rear.

And it's War!‘ Orderly, hold the light. You can lay him down on the table: so. Easily — gently! Thanks — you may go.’ And it's War! but the part that is not for show.

A tent, with a table athwart, A table that's laid out for one; A waterproof cover — and nought But the limp, mangled work of a gun.

A bottle that's stuck by the pole, A guttering dip in its neck; The flickering light of a soul On the wondering eyes of The Wreck,

And it's War!‘ Orderly, hold his hand. I'm not going to hurt you, so do n't be afraid. A ricochet! God! what a mess it has made!’ And it's War! and a very unhealthy trade.

The clink of a stopper and glass: A sigh as the chloroform drips: A trickle of — what? on the grass, And bluer and bluer the lips.

The lashes have hidden the stare.... A rent, and the clothes fall away.... A touch, and the wound is laid bare.... A cut, and the face has turned grey....

And it's War!‘ Orderly, take It out. It's hard for his child, and it's rough on his wife, There might have been — sooner — a chance for his life. But it's War! And — Orderly, clean this knife!’