e in the bombardment,
and by the suffering of his brother who has now returned after the burial.
They were marked on the other hand by two afternoons of rather
memorable emotion. Exasperated by the inactivity of the sector here,
and tempted by danger, I stole off twice after guard,
and made a patrol all by myself through the wood paths and trails
between the lines. In the front of these, at a crossing of paths
not far from one of our posts, I found a burnt rocket-stick
planted in the ground, and a scrap of paper stuck in the top,
placed there by the boches to guide their little mischief-making parties
when they come to visit us in the night. The scrap of paper
was nothing else than a bit of the 'Berliner Tageblatt'.
This seemed so interesting to me that I reported it to the captain,
though my going out alone this way is a thing strictly forbidden.
He was very decent about it though, and seemed really interested
in the information. Yesterday afternoon I repeated this exploit,
following another trail, and I went so far that I came clear up
to the German barbed wire, where I left a card with my name.
It was very thrilling work, "courting destruction with taunts,
with invitations" as Whitman would say. I have never been
in a sector like this, where patrols could be made in daylight.
Here the deep forest permits it. It also greatly facilitates ambushes,
for one must keep to the paths, owing to the underbrush.
I and a few others are going to try to get permission
to go out on 'patrouilles d'embuscade' and bring in some live prisoners.
It would be quite an extraordinary feat if we could pull it off.
In our present existence it is the only way I can think of
to get the Croix de Guerre. And to be worthy of my marraine
I think that I ought to have the Croix de Guerre.

==

He had hoped to have been in Paris on Decoration Day, May 30th,
to read, before the statue of Lafayette and Washington,
the "Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for France",
which he had written at the request of a Committee of American residents;
but his "permission" unfortunately did not arrive in time. Completed in
two days, during which he was engaged in the hardest sort of labour
in the trenches, this Ode is certainly the crown of the poet's achievement.
It is entirely admirable, entirely adequate to the historic occasion.
If the war has produced a nobler utterance, it has not come my way.
On June 24th, he again wrote, giving an acc