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A HISSING Stove whose pale blue flame
Boils peeled potatoes pillaged without shame
The night before from captured village where
The Germans were, not long ago ; a chair,
A wooden table ; and in glimmerings shed
By one small candle’s light, a wooden bed
Or two, mattressed with small heaps of straw
Or shreds of wood ; and round about where paw
Of reckless conquerors has been,—wild strewn,—
A sty of food and tins and drink, all thrown
Down in picturesque disorder. Then,
Along low wood-walled passages the den,
Our German Dug-Out—leaks into the sky
By stair-cased rough-shod shafts steep and high.
