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Show M IN THE TRENCHES, m By Maurice Hewlett. H As I lay In the trenches H Under the Hunter's Moon, My mind ran to the lenches H Cut in a Wiltshire down. B I saw their long black shadows, H The beeches in the lane, H The gray church in the meadows m And my white cottage plain. 1 Thinks I, the down lies dreaming M Under that hot moon's eye, H Which sees the shells fly screaming H And men and horses die. H And whats makes she, I wonaer H ' Of the horror and the blood, H And what's her luck, to sunder H The evil from the good? H 'Twas more than I could compass, H For how was I to think H With such infernal rumpus H In such a blasted stink? H But here's a thought to tally H With t'other. That moon sees H A' shrouded German valley H With woods and ghostly trees. H And maybe there's a river H As we have got at homo H With poplar-trees aqulvcr H And clots of whirling foam. H ' And over there some fellow, H A German and a foe, H Whose gills are turning yellow H As sure as mine are so. H Watches that riding glory H Apparel'd in her gold, H And craves to hear the story H' Her frozen lips enfold. H And if he sees as clearly H As I do where her shine H Must fall, he longs as dearly, H With heart as full as mine. H San Francisco News Letter. |