 | Poems by William W. Story |  |
274
THE BIVOUAC.
Our camp fire fitfully flashes,
Where darkly we bivouac,
And the morning will see our ashes,
But we come never back.
Where darkly we bivouac,
And the morning will see our ashes,
But we come never back.
We have the stars above us
That burn with a pitying light,
But despite the hearts that love us
We are alone in the night.
That burn with a pitying light,
But despite the hearts that love us
We are alone in the night.
Alone, and none can reach us,
Of all who would below,
And there is nothing to teach us
What we must die to know.
Of all who would below,
And there is nothing to teach us
What we must die to know.
275
Some struggle, their hot lips parching,
Some die of sheer despair;
But we know not where we are marching,
We know not what we are.
Some die of sheer despair;
But we know not where we are marching,
We know not what we are.
Our comrade falls beside us,
But we cannot give him breath,
And in vain we strive to hide us
Out of the sight of death.
But we cannot give him breath,
And in vain we strive to hide us
Out of the sight of death.
Through tight-pressed lips we mutter
Our soldier watchword, Faith,
If we speak more we stutter,
And none knoweth what he saith.
Our soldier watchword, Faith,
If we speak more we stutter,
And none knoweth what he saith.
This is our solemn camping,
In our bivouac at night,
But where shall we be tramping
In the morning's early light?
In our bivouac at night,
But where shall we be tramping
In the morning's early light?
| Poems by William W. Story | |