( (IN A HOSPITAL) )

They put the screens around his bed;
 A crumpled heap I saw him lie,
White counterpane and rough dark head,
 Those screens—they showed that he would die.

They put the screens about his bed;
 We might not play the gramophone,
And so we played at cards instead
 And left him dying there alone.

The covers on the screen are red,
 The counterpanes are white and clean;—
He might have lived and loved and wed
 But now he's done for at nineteen.

An ounce or more of Turkish lead,
 He got his wounds at Suvla Bay;
They've brought the Union Jack to spread
 Upon him when he goes away.

He'll want those three red screens no more,
 Another man will get his bed,
We'll make the row we did before
 But—Jove!—I'm sorry that he's dead.