Poems, 1914-1919

<h3><SPAN name="THE_WOUNDED" id="THE_WOUNDED"></SPAN>THE WOUNDED</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> wounded lie and groan upon the plain;<br/></span> <span class="i0">And one there is whom it is vain to lift;<br/></span> <span class="i0">So give him water. It is the last gift,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And very soon he shall not thirst again.<br/></span> <span class="i0">All white and gold the Chief with a troop of horse<br/></span> <span class="i0">Trots by. The soldier opens smiling eyes;<br/></span> <span class="i0">And at the latest gasp of life he cries:<br/></span> <span class="i0">“Long live!” with all his feeble flickering force.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Before he said his say he died content.<br/></span> <span class="i0">And we, the wounded on life’s battlefield,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Enrolled and sent to war to fight and die,<br/></span> <span class="i0">When conquered by our mortal wound, we cry<br/></span> <span class="i0">“Long live!” obedient to our sacrament,<br/></span> <span class="i0">When God with all His universe rides by.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i8">Manchuria, 1904.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page_045" id="page_045"></SPAN>{45}</span></p> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page_044" id="page_044"></SPAN>{44}</span></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />