Pain

Pain, pain continual; pain unending; Hard even to the roughest, but to those Hungry for beauty . . . Not the wisest knows, Nor most pitiful-hearted, what the wending Of one hour's way meant. Grey monotony lending Weight to the grey skies, grey mud where goes An army of grey bedrenched scarecrows in rows Careless at last of cruellest Fate-sending. Seeing the pitiful eyes of men foredone, Or horses shot, too tired merely to stir, Dying in shell-holes both, slain by the mud. Men broken, shrieking even to hear a gun. - Till pain grinds down, or lethargy numbs her, The amazed heart cries angrily out on God.