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."