Sometimes, above the talk and wineFreston was killed in action at La Boisselle, France on January 24, 1916.
That round the long white table flow,
There fall upon my startled ears,
The voices that I used to know.
And looking round the lighted room,
Each in his own familiar chair,
With laughing eyes that greet my eyes,
I see the dead men sitting there.
The dead men's faces glow and shine
With jest and laughter as of old;
The dead men's voices come and go;
And yet my heart is strangely cold.
For one long moment they remain:
And then, as through a mist, I see
The new men sitting in the chairs,
Where once the dead men used to be.
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