Here you will find the Poem Died of Wounds of poet Siegfried Sassoon
His wet white face and miserable eyes Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs: But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell His troubled voice: he did the business well. The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining And calling out for `Dickie?. `Curse the Wood! `It?s time to go. O Christ, and what?s the good? `We?ll never take it, and it?s always raining.? I wondered where he?d been; then heard him shout, `They snipe like hell! O Dickie, don?t go out... I fell asleep ... Next morning he was dead; And some Slight Wound lay smiling on the bed.