Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/100

 XXVI

HE beating of the guns grows louder.

"Not long, boys, now."

My heart burns whiter, fearfuller, prouder;

Hurricanes grow

As guns redouble their fire.

Through the shaken periscope peeping

I glimpse their wire:

Black earth, fountains of earth rise, leaping,

Spouting like shocks of meeting waves.

Death's fountains are playing,

Shells like shrieking birds rush over;

Crash and din rises higher.

A stream of lead raves

Over us from the left (we safe under cover !)

Crash. Reverberation. Crash!

Acrid smoke billowing. Flash upon flash.

Black smoke drifting. The German line

Vanishes in confusion, smoke. Cries, and cry

Of our men, "Gah! yer swine,

You're for it," die

In a hurricane of shell 58