Down in the hollow there’s the whole Brigade 
Camped in four groups: through twilight falling slow 
I hear a sound of mouth-organs, ill-played, 
And murmur of voices, gruff, confused, and low. 
Crouched among thistle-tufts I’ve watched the glow
Of a blurred orange sunset flare and fade; 
And I’m content. To-morrow we must go 
To take some cursèd Wood ... O world God made!

Added: May 19 2005 | Viewed: 424 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Siegfried Sassoon
Poem: At Carnoy

Poem of the Day on:
Jul 29 2008
There are no comments for this poem. Why not be the first one to post something about it?

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, At Carnoy, has not yet been commented on. You can click here to be the first to post a comment about it. Of course you can also always discuss poems by Siegfried Sassoon with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!