Died of Wounds

by

Siegfried Sassoon


His wet white face and miserable eyes

Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:

But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell

His troubled voice: he did the business well.


The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining

And calling out for "Dickie." "Curse the Wood!

"It's time to go. O Christ, and what's the good?

"We'll never take it, and it's always raining."


I wondered where he'd been; then heard him shout,

"They snipe like hell! O Dickie, don't go out..."

I fell asleep ... Next morning he was dead;

And some Slight Wound lay smiling on the bed.



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