| George Herbert Clarke, ed. (18731953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917. |
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| 91. The Days March |
| | | By Robert Nichols |
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| THE BATTERY grides and jingles, | |
| Mile succeeds to mile; | |
| Shaking the noonday sunshine | |
| The guns lunge out awhile, | |
| And then are still awhile. | 5 |
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| We amble along the highway; | |
| The reeking, powdery dust | |
| Ascends and cakes our faces | |
| With a striped, sweaty crust. | |
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| Under the still skys violet | 10 |
| The heat throbs on the air
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| The white roads dusty radiance | |
| Assumes a dark glare. | |
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| With a head hot and heavy, | |
| And eyes that cannot rest, | 15 |
| And a black heart burning | |
| In a stifled breast, | |
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| I sit in the saddle, | |
| I feel the road unroll, | |
| And keep my senses straightened | 20 |
| Toward to-morrows goal. | |
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| There, over unknown meadows | |
| Which we must reach at last, | |
| Day and night thunders | |
| A black and chilly blast. | 25 |
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| Heads forget heaviness, | |
| Hearts forget spleen, | |
| For by that mighty winnowing | |
| Being is blown clean. | |
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| Light in the eyes again, | 30 |
| Strength in the hand, | |
| A spirit dares, dies, forgives, | |
| And can understand! | |
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| And, best! Love comes back again | |
| After grief and shame, | 35 |
| And along the wind of death | |
Throws a clean flame.
. . . . . | |
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| The battery grides and jingles, | |
| Mile succeeds to mile; | |
| Suddenly battering the silence | 40 |
| The guns burst out awhile
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| I lift my head and smile. | |
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