There are five men in the moonlight <br />That by their shadows stand; <br />Three hobble humped on crutches, <br />And two lack each a hand. <br /> <br />Frogs somewhere near the roadside <br />Chorus their chant absorbed: <br />But a hush breathes out of the dream-light <br />That far in heaven is orbed. <br /> <br />It is gentle as sleep falling <br />And wide as thought can span, <br />The ancient peace and wonder <br />That brims in the heart of man. <br /> <br />Beyond the hills it shines now <br />On no peace but the dead, <br />On reek of trenches thunder-shocked, <br />Tense fury of wills in wrestle locked, <br />A chaos of crumbled red. <br /> <br />The five men in the moonlight <br />Chat, joke, or gaze apart. <br />They talk of days and comrades; <br />But each one hides his heart. <br /> <br />They wear clean cap and tunic, <br />As when they went to war. <br />A gleam comes where the medal's pinned: <br />But they will fight no more. <br /> <br />The shadows, maimed and antic, <br />Gesture and shape distort, <br />Like mockery of a demon dumb <br />Out of the hell-din whence they come <br />That dogs them for his sport. <br /> <br />But as if dead men were risen <br />And stood before me there <br />With a terrible flame about them blown <br />In beams of spectral air, <br /> <br />I see them, men transfigured <br />As in a dream, dilate <br />Fabulous with the Titan-throb <br />Of battling Europe's fate; <br /> <br /> <br />For history's hushed before them, <br />And legend flames afresh. <br />Verdun, the name of thunder, <br />Is written on their flesh.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/men-of-verdun-2/
