| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | We Who Have Lost | | By Howard Unger |
| | | THEY were pursuing us along the road. | |
| My arm was gone, and I was weak from loss of blood. | |
| Presently a steel splinter ripped my belly; | |
| I fell into the slimy ditch, and struggled, struggled! | |
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| Soon an officer beneath me spoke, through half a mouth: | 5 |
| “Be quiet, little brother, and I will show you how to lie at ease.” | |
| Now we are at rest. | |
| The heavy tread of the victors shakes the earth; | |
| The loose dirt falls from the side of the ditch, | |
| Little by little. | 10 | | | |
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