His wet white face and miserable eyes br Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs: br But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell br His troubled voice: he did the business well. br br The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining br And calling out for ‘Dickie’. ‘Curse the Wood! br ‘It’s time to go. O Christ, and what’s the good? br ‘We’ll never take it, and it’s always raining.’ br br I wondered where he’d been; then heard him shout, br ‘They snipe like hell! O Dickie, don’t go out... br I fell asleep ... Next morning he was dead; br And some Slight Wound lay smiling on the bed.