At Carnoy by Siegfried Sassoon
Down in the hollow thereâ€™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 Iâ€™ve watched the glow
Of a blurred orange sunset flare and fade;
And Iâ€™m content. To-morrow we must go
To take some cursÐ¸d Wood ... O world God made!