But I Was Looking At The Permanent Stars

Bugles sang, saddening the evening air,

And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear.

Voices of boys were by the river-side.

Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.

The shadow of the morrow weighed on men.

Voices of old despondency resigned,

Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept.

( ) dying tone

Of receding voices that will not return.

The wailing of the high far-travelling shells

And the deep cursing of the provoking ( )

The monstrous anger of our taciturn guns.

The majesty of the insults of their mouths.