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The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles

Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.

We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined

"O sir, my eyes — I'm blind — I'm blind, I'm blind!"

Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids

And said if he could see the least blurred light

He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.

He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.

"I can't," he sobbed. Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids

Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there