AT dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun <br />In the wild purple of the glow'ring sun, <br />Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud <br />The menacing scarred slope; and, one by one, <br />Tanks creep and topple forward to the wire. <br />The barrage roars and lifts. Then, clumsily bowed <br />With bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear, <br />Men jostle and climb to meet the bristling fire. <br />Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear, <br />They leave their trenches, going over the top, <br />While time ticks blank and busy on their wrists, <br />And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists, <br />Flounders in mud. O Jesus, make it stop!<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/attack/
