AS I lay in the trenches Under the Hunter's Moon, My mind ran to the lenches Cut in a Wiltshire down. I saw their long black shadows, The beeches in the lane, The gray church in the meadows And my white cottage—plain. Thinks I, the down lies dreaming Under that hot moon's eye, Which sees the shells fly screaming And men and horses die. And what makes she, I wonder, Of the horror and the blood, And what's her luck, to sunder The evil from the good? 'T was more than I could compass, For how was I to think With such infernal rumpus In such a blasted stink? But here's a thought to tally With t'other. That moon sees A shrouded German valley With woods and ghostly trees. And maybe there's a river As we have got at home With poplar-trees aquiver And clots of whirling foam. And over there some fellow, A German and a foe, Whose gills are turning yellow As sure as mine are so, Watches that riding glory Apparel'd in her gold, And craves to hear the story Her frozen lips enfold. And if he sees as clearly As I do where her shrine Must fall, he longs as dearly, With heart as full as mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 4. NEW JERSEY by CLARENCE MAJOR STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 5. MARYLAND by CLARENCE MAJOR TOWARD THE GULF; DEDICATED TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A LITTLE WHILE by SARA TEASDALE THE SCARLET TANAGER by JOEL BENTON SONNET: INSCRIPTION FOR A PORTRAIT OF DANTE by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO |