Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/293

 CVII

LD rose and black and indigo,

Saffron streaks in a spume-tipped grey,

Purple, laved in the dawn's wan glow—

God, how fair you are, Suvla Bay!

Spitting shrapnel and shrieking steel,

Brave men dead in their youth's noonday,

All the anguish their loved ones feel

Is your ambrose, fair Suvla Bay!

Stabbing sun from a brazen sky,

Choking dust from the corpse-strewn way,

Each one treads as he marches by,—

God, how I loathe you, Suvla Bay!

Tanned men delving with laboured breath,

Stinking lighters discharging hay,

Grey-hulled battleships belching death,

God, there's work on at Suvla Bay!

251