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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Robert Redfield, Jr.

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

In Moulins Wood

Robert Redfield, Jr.

From “War Sketches”

I WALK alone through a desolation where the stripped and beaten trees are mute, having forgot to pray.

Over the shell-holes, torn mouths of clay, hangs the smell of gas, like that of rotting pears.

Silence everywhere—save above, where the shells pass whining on invisible grooves. Surely someone is drawing heated irons across the sky.

A fearful place to walk with Solitude; my nerves ache. Are all men dead but me, or is this Death by my side?