Light in the East, the dawn wind singing,
Solemn and grey and chill,
Rose in the sky, with Orion swinging
Down to the distant hill;
The grass dew-pearled and the mohwa shaking
Her scented petals across the track,
And the herd astir to the new day breaking—
Gods! how it all comes back.
So it was, and on such a morning
Somebody's bullet sped,