Wilfred Wilson Gibson (Уилфрид Уилсон Гибсон)
Retreat
Broken, bewildered by the long retreat Across the stifling leagues of southern plain, Across the scorching leagues of trampled grain, Half-stunned, half-blinded, by the trudge of feet And dusty smother of the August heat, He dreamt of flowers in an English lane, Of hedgerow flowers glistening after rain -- All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet. All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet -- The innocent names kept up a cool refrain -- All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet, Chiming and tinkling in his aching brain, Until he babbled like a child again -- "All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet."
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