“I’m sorry I done it, Major.” We bandaged the livid face; And led him out, ere the wan sun rose, To die his death of disgrace. The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge; The rifles steadied to rest, As cold stock nestled at colder cheek And foresight lined on the breast.…
Or read it translated: 日本語 · 中文 · हिन्दी · Español · العربية · Français · বাংলা · Português · Русский · Bahasa Indonesia · اردو · Deutsch · Kiswahili · 한국어