Item 04: G. O. Hawkins letters to his family, 2 January 1915-November 1917 - Page 72
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[Page 72]
8
ready next morning
We moved as it were beneath the hem of nights fast fleeting folds, through the breathing silence of a vast spread camp, were sleep with her mysterious spell held life as if by the seal of death.
This marching out of [indecipherable] soldiers before the dawn is like the first few lines of a wonderful poem which is often in my mind but can never be written in words.
Someday there will be a master who will become immortal as the creator of the poem, but not in words.
It must be my music
Then you will have a complete volume of three chapters
"The dawn march"
"The Marsellees" (dont mind spelling)
"The Dead march in Gaul"
So often have i been a moving unit of the dawn march. The heavy black of the moving mass
The spectre like courageous next to you
The measured tread of feet the sound of creaking harness, click of metal. Curse or jest of soldier, and the haunting spirit of courageouship