'O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,' he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed, or prayed indeed,
The Bullets chirped —In vain! vain! vain!
Machine—guns chuckled, —Tut—tut! Tut—tut!
And the Big Gun guffawed.
Another sighed, —‘O Mother, mother! Dad!’
Then smiled, at nothing, childlike, being dead.
And the lofty Shrapnel—cloud
Leisurely gestured, —Fool!
And the falling splinters tittered.
‘My Love!’ one moaned. Love—languid seemed his mood,
Till, slowly lowered, his whole face kissed the mud.
And the Bayonets’ long teeth grinned;
Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned;
And the Gas hissed.