24
LOOKING DEATH IN THE FACE.
LOOKING DEATH IN THE FACE.
Y, in thy face, old fellow! Now 's the time.The Black Sea wind flaps my tent-roof, nor wakes
These lads of mine, who take of sleep their fill,
As if they thought they 'd never sleep again,
Instead of—
Pitiless Crimean blast,
How many a howling lullaby thou 'It raise
To-morrow night, all nights till the world's end,
Over some sleepers here!
Some?—who? Dumb Fate
Whispers in no man's ear his coming doom;
Each thinks—"not I—not I."
But thou, grim Death,
I hear thee on the night-wind flying abroad,
I feel thee here, squatted at our tent-door,
Invisible and incommunicable,
Pointing:
"Hurrah!"
Why yell so in your sleep,
Comrade? Did you see aught?
Well—let him dream:
Who knows, to-morrow such a shout as this
