The Death-Bed

He drowsed and was aware of silence

Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;

Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,

Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.

Silence and safety; and his mortal

Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.

Someone was holding water to his mouth.

He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and

Through crimson gloom to darkness; and

The opiate throb and ache that was his wound.

Water—calm, sliding green above the weir.

Water—a sky-lit alley for his boat,

Bird- voiced, and bordered with reflected

And shaken hues of summer; drifting down,

He dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept.

Night, with a gust of wind, was in the ward,

Blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve.


He was blind; he could not see the

Glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud;

Queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green,

Flickered and faded in his drowning eyes.

Rain—he could hear it rustling through the dark;

Fragrance and passionless music woven as one;

Warm rain on drooping roses; pattering

That soak the woods; not the harsh rain that

Behind the thunder, but a trickling peace,

Gently and slowly washing life away.

He stirred, shifting his body; then the

Leapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and

His groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs.

But someone was beside him; soon he

Shuddering because that evil thing had passed.

And death, who'd stepped toward him, paused and stared.

Light many lamps and gather round his bed.

Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.

Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.

He's young; he hated War; how should he

When cruel old campaigners win safe through?

But death replied: 'I choose him.' So he went,

And there was silence in the summer night;

Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.

Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.

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