DARK clouds are smouldering into red While down the craters morning burns. The dying soldier shifts his head To watch the glory that returns; He lifts his fingers toward the skies Where holy brightness breaks in flame; Radiance reflected in his eyes, And on his lips a whispered name. You'd think, to hear some people talk, That lads go West with sobs and curses, And sullen faces white as chalk, Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses. But they've been taught the way to do it Like Christian soldiers; not with haste And shuddering groans; but passing through it With due regard for decent taste. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DAY IS DONE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CREDO by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO THE FOUR COURTS, PLEASE by JAMES STEPHENS VIRGINIA - THE WEST by WALT WHITMAN AN OLD SONG by SOLOMON BLOOMGARDEN THE REAR GUARD by IRENE FOWLER BROWN |