Page:Sassoon, Siegfried - Counter-Attack and Other Poems (1918).djvu/32

 clouds are smouldering into red
 * While down the craters morning burns.

The dying soldier shifts his head
 * To watch the glory that returns:

He lifts his fingers toward the skies
 * Where holy brightness breaks in flame;

Radiance reflected in his eyes,
 * And on his lips a whispered name.

You'd think, to hear some people talk,
 * That lads go West with sobs and curses,

And sullen faces white as chalk,
 * Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.

But they've been taught the way to do it
 * Like Christian soldiers; not with haste

And shuddering groans; but passing through it
 * With due regard for decent taste.