Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/317

 Where fought the men of England round Ypres in

the rain, On the grim phiin of Flanders, whose earth is fed

with slaughter.

North-country fighting men from the mine and the

loom, Highlander and lowlander stood up to death and

doom. From Bixschoote to Baecelaere and down to the

Lys river.

London men and Irish, Indian men and French, Charging with the bayonet, Firing in the trench, Fought in that furious fight, shoulder to shoulder. Leapt from their saddles to charge in fierce disorder, The Life Guards, mud and blood for the scarlet

and the plume, And they hurled back the foemen as the wind the

sea spume. From Bixschoote to Baecelaere and down to the Lys river.

But the huge Hun masses yet mounted more and

more, Like a giant wave gathering to whelm the sweet shore. While swift the exultant foam runs on before and over.

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