And night dull tramping onward in the mud,
Buffeted about by caissons and guns and motor trucks;
Life was but mud and rain and weary men.
And then—one evening ere the march began,
I chanced to pause and gaze into the West,
And there was all the beauty of the world
Lying a-top the rain-bejewelled trees
In stripes of crimson, lavender, and blue,
And all the other colors known to man!
Then darkness came, and I was tramping northward once again,