Bugles sang, saddening the evening air, And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear. Voices of boys were by the river-side. Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad. The shadow of the morrow weighed on men. Voices of old despondency resigned, Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept. ( ) dying tone Of receding voices that will not return. The wailing of the high far-travelling shells And the deep cursing of the provoking ( ) The monstrous anger of our taciturn guns. The majesty of the insults of their mouths.