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THE APPROACH
27
2. On the Way Up
The battery grides and jingles,
Mile succeeds to mile;
Shaking the noonday sunshine,
The guns lunge out a while
And then are still a while.
We amble along the highway;
The reeking, powdery dust
Ascends and cakes our faces,
With a striped, sweaty crust.
Under the still sky's violet
The heat throbs in the air. . . .
The white road's dusty radiance,
Assumes a dark glare.
With a head hot and heavy,
And eyes that cannot rest,
And a black heart burning
In a stifled breast,
I sit in the saddle,
I feel the road unroll,
And keep my senses straightened
Toward to-morrow's goal.
There over unknown meadows,
Which we must reach at last,
Day and night thunders
A black and chilly blast.
