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At Carnoy
by
Siegfried
Sassoon
Down in the hollow there’s the whole Brigade
Camped in four groups: through twilight falling slow
I hear a sound of mouth-organs, ill-played,
And murmur of voices, gruff, confused, and low.
Crouched among thistle-tufts I’ve watched the glow
Of a blurred orange sunset flare and fade;
And I’m content.
To-morrow we must go
To take some curs?d Wood .
.
.
O world God made!
Poem by
Siegfried
Sassoon
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