'Thou canst not wish to live,' the surgeon said. <br />He clutched him, as a soul thrust forth from bliss <br />Clings to the ledge of Heaven! 'Would'st thou keep this <br />Poor branchless trunk?' 'But she would lean my head <br />Upon her breast; oh, let me live!' 'Be wise.' <br />'I could be very happy; both these eyes <br />Are left me; I should see her; she would kiss <br />My forehead: only let me live.'-He dies <br />Even in the passionate prayer. 'Good Doctor, say <br />If thou canst give more than another day <br />Of life?' 'I think there may be hope.' 'Pass on. <br />I will not buy it with some widow's son!' <br />'Help,' 'help,' 'help,' 'help!' 'God curse thee!' 'Doctor, stay, <br />Yon Frenchman went down earlier in the day.'<br /><br />Sydney Thompson Dobell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wounded-2/
