I <br /> <br />O it was sad enough, weak enough, mad enough - <br />Light in their loving as soldiers can be - <br />First to risk choosing them, leave alone losing them <br />Now, in far battle, beyond the South Sea! . . . <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />- Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly <br />Trudged on beside them through mirk and through mire, <br />They stepping steadily--only too readily! - <br />Scarce as if stepping brought parting-time nigher. <br /> <br />III <br /> <br />Great guns were gleaming there, living things seeming there, <br />Cloaked in their tar-cloths, upmouthed to the night; <br />Wheels wet and yellow from axle to felloe, <br />Throats blank of sound, but prophetic to sight. <br /> <br />IV <br /> <br />Gas-glimmers drearily, blearily, eerily <br />Lit our pale faces outstretched for one kiss, <br />While we stood prest to them, with a last quest to them <br />Not to court perils that honour could miss. <br /> <br />V <br /> <br />Sharp were those sighs of ours, blinded these eyes of ours, <br />When at last moved away under the arch <br />All we loved. Aid for them each woman prayed for them, <br />Treading back slowly the track of their march. <br /> <br />VI <br /> <br />Someone said: "Nevermore will they come: evermore <br />Are they now lost to us." O it was wrong! <br />Though may be hard their ways, some Hand will guard their ways, <br />Bear them through safely, in brief time or long. <br /> <br />VII <br /> <br />- Yet, voices haunting us, daunting us, taunting us, <br />Hint in the night-time when life beats are low <br />Other and graver things . . . Hold we to braver things, <br />Wait we, in trust, what Time's fulness shall show.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-going-of-the-battery-wives-lament/
