I’ve watched the Seasons passing slow, so slow, br In the fields between La Bassée and Bethune; br Primroses and the first warm day of Spring, br Red poppy floods of June, br August, and yellowing Autumn, so br To Winter nights knee-deep in mud or snow, br And you’ve been everything. br br Dear, you’ve been everything that I most lack br In these soul-deadening trenches—pictures, books, br Music, the quiet of an English wood, br Beautiful comrade-looks, br The narrow, bouldered mountain-track, br The broad, full-bosomed ocean, green and black, br And Peace, and all that’s good.