Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit, 
He flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows 
Each flash and spouting crash, — each instant lit 
When gloom reveals the streaming rain. He goes 
Heavily, blindly on. And, while he blunders, 
"Could anything be worse than this?” — he wonders, 
Remembering how he saw those Germans run, 
Screaming for mercy among the stumps of trees: 
Green-faced, they dodged and darted: there was one 
Livid with terror, clutching at his knees. . . 
Our chaps were sticking 'em like pigs . . . "O hell!" 
He thought — “there's things in war one dare not tell 
Poor father sitting safe at home, who reads 
Of dying heroes and their deathless deeds."