RETREAT

                          Broken, bewildered by the long retreat
                               Across the stifling leagues of
                               southern plain,
                               Across the scorching leagues of
                               trampled grain,
                          Half-stunned, half-blinded, by the
                          trudge of feet
                          And dusty smother of the August heat,
                               He dreamt of flowers in an
                               English lane,
                               Of hedgerow flowers glistening
                               after rain --
                          All-heal and willow-herb and
                          meadow-sweet.

                          All-heal and willow-herb and
                          meadow-sweet --
                               The innocent names kept up a
                               cool refrain --
                          All-heal and willow-herb and
                          meadow-sweet,
                               Chiming and tinkling in his
                               aching brain,
                               Until he babbled like a child
                               again --
                          "All-heal and willow-herb and
                          meadow-sweet."
 
 

                                    By:  Wilfrid Wilson Gibson