(EGYPTIAN BASE CAMP) <br /> <br /> <br />They are gathering round.... <br />Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand, <br />Shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound— <br />The jangle and throb of a piano ... tum-ti-tum... <br />Drawn by a lamp, they come <br />Out of the glimmering lines of their tents, over the shuffling sand. <br /> <br />O sing us the songs, the songs of our own land, <br />You warbling ladies in white. <br />Dimness conceals the hunger in our faces, <br />This wall of faces risen out of the night, <br />These eyes that keep their memories of the places <br />So long beyond their sight. <br /> <br />Jaded and gay, the ladies sing; and the chap in brown <br />Tilts his grey hat; jaunty and lean and pale, <br />He rattles the keys ... some actor-bloke from town... <br />God send you home; and then A long, long trail; <br />I hear you calling me; and Dixieland.... <br />Sing slowly ... now the chorus ... one by one <br />We hear them, drink them; till the concert’s done. <br />Silent, I watch the shadowy mass of soldiers stand. <br />Silent, they drift away, over the glimmering sand. <br /> <br /> <br />Kantara, April 1918.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/concert-party/
