THAT boy I took in the car last night, With the body that awfully sagged away, And the lips blood-crisped, and the eyes flame-bright, And the poor hands folded and cold as clay -- Oh, I've thought and I've thought of him all the day. For the weary old doctor says to me: "He'll only last for an hour or so. Both of his legs below the knee Blown off by a bomb. . . . So, lad, go slow, And please remember, he doesn't know." So I tried to drive with never a jar; And there was I cursing the road like mad, When I hears a ghost of a voice from the car: "Tell me, old chap, have I 'copped it' bad?" So I answers "No," and he says, "I'm glad." "Glad," says he, "for at twenty-two Life's so splendid, I hate to go. There's so much good that a chap might do, And I've fought from the start and I've suffered so. 'Twould be hard to get knocked out now, you know." "Forget it," says I; then I drove awhile, And I passed him a cheery word or two; But he didn't answer for many a mile, So just as the hospital hove in view, Says I: "Is there nothing that I can do?" Then he opens his eyes and he smiles at me; And he takes my hand in his trembling hold; "Thank you -- you're far too kind," says he: "I'm awfully comfy -- stay . . . let's see: I fancy my blanket's come unrolled -- My @3feet@1, please wrap 'em -- they're cold . . . they're cold." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT PRAYER OF THE LOST by ALETHEA TODD ALDERSON THE HAYMAKER'S SONG by ALFRED AUSTIN A SONNET. ON CYNTHIA SICK by PHILIP AYRES THE GOLDEN AGE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE SOUTH STATE STREET, CHICAGO by MAXWELL BODENHEIM THE TOWERS OF PRINCETON [FROM THE TRAIN] by ROBERT BRIDGES (1858-1941) |