Iv

We came to Aubers at the dead of night, And found the semblance of that circled hell, Which Dante once, damnation’s pains to tell, Paced out in darkness, agony and fright. In that blank lazarette no kindly light On bending form of nurse or surgeon fell, But darkness and barred doors proclaimed too well The piteous end of long-endured plight. No room was there in stable or in stall, Nor roof to shelter cattle while they eat, Where wounded men could shelter from the blight Of the foul dew that drizzling covered all. But in the open and the squelching street We left them to endure the drenching night.

RASTATT, 3rd May