At dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun

In the wild purple of the glow'ring sun

Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud

The menacing scarred slope; and, one by one

Tanks creep and topple forward to the wire

The barrage roars and lifts. Then, clumsily bowed

With bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear

Men jostle and climb to, meet the bristling fire.

Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear,

They leave their trenches, going over the top

While time ticks blank and busy on their wrists,

And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists

Flounders in mud. O Jesus, make it stop!