We from the sunless, airless trench,
The mud, the muddy bread, the stench,
Of No Man's Land, where English, French,
And Germans rest,
Came on an English April day
Through sun-filled railway-cuttings, gay
With English primroses, away
Into the West,
And found ourselves with Plymouth Sound
Beneath us, and Drake's bowling-ground
Above; and from the heights around
The bay there came
The boom of English guns, the call
Of English bugles. Best of all,
In this kind Devon hospital,
The old, the same
Strong gentleness of nursing eyes
And mothering hearts, and hands that bring
Health radiant as an English spring
To wounded, sick, and suffering.
Back to Charles Edward Montague
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Comments1Hi!
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Gmail: [email protected]