Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit,
He flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows Each flash and spouting crash,—each instant lit When gloom reveals the streaming rain.
He goes Heavily, blindly on.
And, while he blunders, "Could anything be worse than this?"—he wonders,
Remembering how he saw those Germans run,
Screaming for mercy among the stumps of trees:
Green-faced, they dodged and darted: there was one Livid with terror, clutching at his knees. . .
Our chaps were sticking 'em like pigs . . . "O hell!" He thought—"there's things in war one dare not tell Poor father sitting safe at home, who reads Of dying heroes and their deathless deeds."
