Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
To the siding-shed,
And lined the train with faces grimly gay.
Their breasts were stuck all white with wreath and spray
As men's are, dead.
Dull porters watched them, and a casual tramp
Stood staring hard,
Sorry to miss them from the upland camp.
Then, unmoved, signals nodded, and a lamp
Winked to the guard.
So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.
As he will ‘miss’ the soldiers, it is clear that the tramp believes the soldiers will not return. Owen here is elucidating the cyclical nature of war – the tramp and porter have seen soldiers leaving before, to the extent that the porter is ‘dulled’ by it all.