Poems (Nora May French)/By The Hospital
BY THE HOSPITAL
WHO goes to meet the windy night With unseen comrades shouting by, Who grips a bough in swift delight To let it dip and loose and fly;
Who runs for rest that running gives, Runs till his throbbing muscles speak; Who bends to feel how keenly lives The joyous grass beneath his cheek—
With sudden tears his eyes shall fill, With quick-drawn breath he sees them plain—Those bodies that must lie so still, So tired—in the House of Pain.