Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967). The Old Huntsman and Other Poems. 1918.

27. Died of Wounds

HIS wet white face and miserable eyes

Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:

But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell

His troubled voice: he did the business well.

The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining

And calling out for ‘Dickie’. ‘Curse the Wood!

‘It’s time to go. O Christ, and what’s the good?

‘We’ll never take it, and it’s always raining.’

I wondered where he’d been; then heard him shout,

‘They snipe like hell! O Dickie, don’t go out…

I fell asleep … Next morning he was dead;

And some Slight Wound lay smiling on the bed.