FROM MY TRENCH
A clear, cold night, and in the southern air
Those far-off thunderings so often there;[12]
A Turkish moon is shining fitfully—
My thoughts are ’neath another moon where we
Paced slowly through the tree stems—you and I.
And, looking back at yon farewell, I sigh
And wonder whether then I cared as much
As now I do when far beyond your touch.
Cpl. Comus, 2nd Bat., A.I.F.