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 cursed Wood ... O world God made! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO AMARANTHA, THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVEL HER HAIR by RICHARD LOVELACE THE DAYS GONE BY by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 98. HE AND I by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE CANDLE by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM THE LOAN by SABINE BARING-GOULD SONNET TO NICHOLAS BLACKLEECH OF GRAYES INNE by RICHARD BARNFIELD THURSDAY IN HOLY WEEK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |