Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/103

Rh Now comes the thrust,

My part dizziness  will  but trust

These men. The great guns rise.

Their fury seems to burst the earth and skies!

They—lift!

Gather, heart, all thoughts that drift;

Be steel, soul.

Compress thyself

Into a round, bright whole.

I cannot speak.

Time! Time!

I hear my whistle shriek

Between teeth set,

I fling an arm up,

Scramble up the grime

Over the parapet!

I'm up. Go on.

Something meets us.

Head down into the storm that greets us.

A wail!

Lights. Blurr.

Gone.

On, on. Lead. Lead. Hail.

Spatter. Whirr. Whirr.