His wet white face and miserable eyes 
Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs: 
But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell 
His troubled voice: he did the business well. 

The ward grew dark; but he was still complaining 
And calling out for ‘Dickie’. ‘Curse the Wood! 
‘It’s time to go. O Christ, and what’s the good? 
‘We’ll never take it, and it’s always raining.’ 

I wondered where he’d been; then heard him shout, 
‘They snipe like hell! O Dickie, don’t go out... 
I fell asleep ... Next morning he was dead; 
And some Slight Wound lay smiling on the bed. 

Added: May 19 2005 | Viewed: 724 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Siegfried Sassoon
Poem: Died of Wounds

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, Died of Wounds, 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!