Road

<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN> <h1>THE ROAD</h1> <p id="id00135">The road is thronged with women; soldiers pass<br> And halt, but never see them; yet they're here—<br> A patient crowd along the sodden grass,<br> Silent, worn out with waiting, sick with fear.<br> The road goes crawling up a long hillside,<br> All ruts and stones and sludge, and the emptied dregs<br> Of battle thrown in heaps. Here where they died<br> Are stretched big-bellied horses with stiff legs;<br> And dead men, bloody-fingered from the fight,<br> Stare up at caverned darkness winking white.<br> </p> <p id="id00136">You in the bomb-scorched kilt, poor sprawling Jock,<br> You tottered here and fell, and stumbled on,<br> Half dazed for want of sleep. No dream could mock<br> Your reeling brain with comforts lost and gone.<br> You did not feel her arms about your knees,<br> Her blind caress, her lips upon your head:<br> Too tired for thoughts of home and love and ease,<br> The road would serve you well enough for bed.<br> </p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />