To take some cursèd Wood.... O world God made!

_July 3rd, 1916._


BATTALION RELIEF

"_Fall in! Now, get a move on!_" (Curse the rain.)
We splash away along the straggling village,
Out to the flat rich country green with June....
And sunset flares across wet crops and tillage,
Blazing with splendour-patches. Harvest soon
Up in the Line. "_Perhaps the War'll be done
By Christmas-time. Keep smiling then, old son!_"

Here's the Canal: it's dusk; we cross the bridge.
"_Lead on there by platoons._" The Line's a-glare
With shell-fire through the poplars; distant rattle
Of rifles and machine-guns. "_Fritz is there!
Christ, ain't it lively, Sergeant? Is't a battle?_"
More rain: the lightning blinks, and thunder rumbles.
"There's overhead artillery," some chap grumbles.

"_What's all this mob, by the cross-road?_" (The guides)....
"_Lead on with Number One_" (And off they go.)

"_Three-minute intervals._" ... Poor blundering files,
Sweating and blindly burdened; who's to know
If death will catch them in those two dark miles?
(More rain.) "_Lead on, Headquarters._"