Return - 1917
“The College will reopen Sept.—.”
‘Catalogue’.
I was just aiming at the jagged hole
Torn in the yellow sandbags of their trench,
When something threw me sideways with a wrench,
And the skies seemed to shrivel like a scroll
And disappear . . . and propped against the bole
Of a big elm I lay, and watched the clouds
Float through the blue, deep sky in speckless crowds,
And I was clean again, and young, and whole.
Lord, what a dream that was! And what a doze
Waiting for Bill to come along to class!
I’ve cut it now—and he—Oh, hello, Fred!
Why, what’s the matter?—here—don’t be an ass,
Sit down and tell me!—What do you suppose?
I dreamed I . . . am I . . . wounded? “You are dead.”
