Out of Trenches: The Barn, Twilight

In the raftered barn we lie,
Sprawl, scrawl postcards, laugh and speak--
Just mere men a trifle weary,
Worn in heart, a trifle weak:
Because alway
At close of day
Thought steals to England far away....
"Alf!" "O ay."
"Gi' us a tune, mate." "Well, wot say?"
"Swipe 'The Policeman's 'Oliday'...."
"Tiddle-iddle-um-tum,
Tum-TUM."

Sprawling on my aching back,
Think I nought; but I am glad--
Dear, rare lads of pick and pack!
Aie me too! I'm sad.... I'm sad:
Some must die
(Maybe I):
O pray it take them suddenly!
"Bill!" "Wot ho!"
"Concertina: let it go--
'If you were the Only Girl.'" "Cheero!"
"If you were the Only Girl."

Damn. 'Abide with Me....' Not now!--
Well ... if you must: just your way.
It racks me till the tears nigh flow.
The tune see-saws. I turn, I pray
Behind my hand,
Shaken, unmanned,
In groans that God may understand:
Miracle!
"Let, let them all survive this hell."
Hear 'Trumpeter, what are you sounding?' swell.
(My God! I guess indeed too well:
The broken heart, eyes front, proud knell!)
Grant but mine sound with their farewell.
"It's the Last Post I'm sounding."