But I Was Looking At The Permanent Stars

Bugles sang, saddening the evening air,  And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear.   Voices of boys had been by way of the river-aspect.  Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.  The shadow of the morrow weighed on men.  Voices of ancient despondency resigned,  Bowed by way of the shadow of the morrow, slept.  dying tone Of receding voices in an effort to no longer return.  The wailing of the excessive a ways-traveling shells  And the deep cursing of the provoking The vast anger of our taciturn weapons.  The majesty of the insults of their mouths.