An Occasion

AN OCCASION by ROBERT GRAVES

'The trenches are filled in, the houseless dead Disperse and on the rising thunder-storm Cast their weak limbs, are whirled up overhead In clouds of fear....' Then suddenly as you read, As we sat listening there, and cushioned warm, War-scarred yet safe, alive beyond all doubt, The blundering gale outside faltered, stood still: Two bolts clicked at the glass doors, and a shrill Impetuous gust of wind blew in with a shout, Fluttering your poems. And the lamp went out.