Desire
All the sweet pulsing
And gentle
That were you,
Are gone into the sullen dark.
Now in the night you come
To lie with meA dull, cold, rigid
On my hot-swollen, throbbing soul.
Before America entered the war Hemingway volunteered and served in the ambulance corps in France; he was transferred to the Paive region of Italy in July, 1918, and shortly after on July 8 was wounded in a mortar attack. This poem apparently looks back to that day.
