Dark clouds are smouldering into red <br />While down the craters morning burns. <br />The dying soldier shifts his head <br />To watch the glory that returns; <br />He lifts his fingers toward the skies <br />Where holy brightness breaks in flame; <br />Radiance reflected in his eyes, <br />And on his lips a whispered name. <br /> <br />You’d think, to hear some people talk, <br />That lads go West with sobs and curses, <br />And sullen faces white as chalk, <br />Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses. <br />But they’ve been taught the way to do it <br />Like Christian soldiers; not with haste <br />And shuddering groans; but passing through it <br />With due regard for decent taste.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-to-die/
