A wife in london notes

A WIFE IN LONDON

i

She sits in the tawny vapour

That the Thames-side lanes have uprolled,

Behind whose webby fold on fold

Like a waning taper

The street-lamp glimmers cold.

A messenger’s knock cracks smartly

Flashed news is in her hand

Of meaning it dazes to understand

Though shaped so shortly;

He-has fallen-in the far South Land…..

II

‘Tis the morrow; the fog hangs thicker,

The postman nears and goes:

A letter is brought whose lines disclose

By the firelighter flicker

His hand, whom the worm now knows:

Fresh – firm – penned in highest feather -

Page-full of his hoped return,

And of home-planned jaunts by brake and burn

In the summer weather,

And of new love that they would learn.

A tent that is pitched at the base;

A wagon that comes from the night;

A stretcher – and on it a Case;

A surgeon, who’s holding a light,

The Infantry’s bearing the brunt –

O hark to the wind-carried cheer!

A mutter of guns at the front;

A whimper of sobs at the rear.

And it’s War! Orderly, hold the light.

You can lay him down on the table; so.

Easily – gently! Thanks – you may go,’

And it’s War! But the part that is not for show.

A tent, with a table athwart,

A table that’s laid out for one;

A waterproof cover – and nought

But the limp, mangled work of a gun. ...