NIGHT ON THE CONVOY
And I remember Arras, and that hill
Where dumb with pain I stumbled among the dead.
Where dumb with pain I stumbled among the dead.
We are going home. The troop-ship, in a thrill
Of fiery-chamber'd anguish, throbs and rolls.
We are going home. . .victims. . .three thousand souls.
Of fiery-chamber'd anguish, throbs and rolls.
We are going home. . .victims. . .three thousand souls.
May, 1918.
