AT THE DAWN
29
I saw the shaking of his hand,
Which dripped with blood was not his own:
I saw each drop merge with the sand,
Like seed some Evil One had sown.
Which dripped with blood was not his own:
I saw each drop merge with the sand,
Like seed some Evil One had sown.
Then he was gone, and I stood there,
Still gazing on the reddened ground,
And musing whether wheat or tare
From such a sowing would be found.
Still gazing on the reddened ground,
And musing whether wheat or tare
From such a sowing would be found.
And there was silence for a space,
Save that a lark sang on the wing:
Then, crouching low, with grim-set face,
Up the long trench came Hira Singh.
Save that a lark sang on the wing:
Then, crouching low, with grim-set face,
Up the long trench came Hira Singh.
He paused by me, and with a blow
He struck the stopper in his flask,
And told me what I sought to know
Before my tongue had time to ask.
He struck the stopper in his flask,
And told me what I sought to know
Before my tongue had time to ask.
