His fingers wake, and flutter; up the bed. His eyes come open with a pull of will, Helped by the yellow mayflowers by his head. The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill… What a smooth floor the ward has! What a rug! Who is that talking somewhere out of sight? Three flies creeping round the shiny jug… `Nurse! Doctor!`-`Yes; all right, all right.` But sudden evening muddles all the air. There seems no time to want a drink of water. Nurse looks so far away. And here and there Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter. He can`t remember where he saw blue sky… The trench is narrower. Cold, he`s cold; yet hot — And there`s no light to see the voices by… There is no time to ask… he knows not what.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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