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.