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[42] Till the eyes see only a sky blue frame,
And a lurid picture of smoke and flame.

And the air grows dense with a thousand sighs,
And shriek's defiance in shrill death-cries.

And blood lies black in horrible streams,
And we think we are dreaming fearful dreams.

But our wheels are strong, our axles sound,
And over the sea we merrily bound.

What do we care for the bursting shell?
We know its music, and love it well.

What do we care for sighs and groans,
For mangled bodies and shattered bones?

We laugh at danger, and scorn mischance,
We who drive the Ambulance.

Through rattling bullets and clashing steel,
We steadily guide the leaping wheel.

Writhing in agony they lie,
Cursing the Ambulance, praying to die.

While some in a dreamy deathlike trance,
Bleed life away through the Ambulance.

Hurrah! Hurrah! Up bands and play!
We're leading a glorious life to-day.

For war is play and life a chance,
And 'tis merry to drive the Ambulance.

--Vanity Fair

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