The Send-Off
Wilfred Owen
1893 to 1918
Track 1
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To the siding-shed,
Stood staring hard,
Who gave them flowers.
Up half-known roads.
Nor there if they yet mock what women meant
Then, unmoved, signals nodded, and a lamp
And lined the train with faces grimly gay.
They were not ours:
May creep back, silent, to still village wells
Shall they return to beatings of great bells
A few, a few, too few for drums and yells,
Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
As men's are, dead.
So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.
In wild trainloads?
Winked to the guard.
Sorry to miss them from the upland camp.
Dull porters watched them, and a casual tramp
Their breasts were stuck all white with wreath and spray
We never heard to which front these were sent.