Lying flat on my belly shivering in clutch frost, <br />There was time to watch the stars, we had dug in; <br />Looking eastward over the low ridge; March scurried its blast, <br />At our senses, no use either dying or struggling. <br />Low woods to left, Cotswold spinnies if ever, <br />Showed through snow flurries and the clearer star weather. <br />And nothing but chill and wonder lived in mind; nothing <br />But loathing and fine beauty, and wet clothing. <br />Here were thoughts. Cold smothering, and fire-desiring, <br />A day to follow like this or in digging or wiring.<br /><br />Ivor Gurney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/near-vermand/
