Poetry Archives

‘O Jesus Christ!  I’m hit,’ he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed, or prayed indeed,
       The Bullets chirped—’In vain! vain! vain!’
       Machine-guns chuckled, ‘Tut-tut! Tut-tut!’
       And the Big Gun guffawed.


Another sighed,—’O Mother, Mother! Dad!’
Then smiled, at nothing, childlike, being dead.
       And the lofty Shrapnel-cloud
       Leisurely gestured,—’Fool!’
       And the falling splinters tittered.


‘My Love!’ one moaned.  Love-languid seemed his mood,
Till, slowly lowered, his whole face kissed the mud.
       And the Bayonets’ long teeth grinned;
       Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned;
       And the Gas hissed.