When I’m asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,— <br />They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead. <br />While the dim charging breakers of the storm <br />Bellow and drone and rumble overhead, <br />Out of the gloom they gather about my bed. <br />They whisper to my heart; their thoughts are mine. <br />‘Why are you here with all your watches ended? <br />From Ypres to Frise we sought you in the Line.’ <br />In bitter safety I awake, unfriended; <br />And while the dawn begins with slashing rain <br />I think of the Battalion in the mud. <br />‘When are you going out to them again? <br />Are they not still your brothers through our blood?’<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sick-leave/
