Who died on the wires, and hung there, one of two - <br />Who for his hours of life had chattered through <br />Infinite lovely chatter of Bucks accent: <br />Yet faced unbroken wires; stepped over, and went <br />A noble fool, faithful to his stripes - and ended. <br />But I weak, hungry, and willing only for the chance <br />Of line- to fight in the line, lay down under unbroken <br />Wires, and saw the flashes and kept unshaken, <br />Till the politest voice - a finicking accent, said: <br />‘Do you think you might crawl through there: there's a hole.' <br />Darkness shot at: I smiled, as politely replied – <br />‘I'm afraid not, Sir.' There was no hole, no way to be seen <br />Nothing but chance of death, after tearing of clothes. <br />Kept flat, and watched the darkness, hearing bullets whizzing – <br />And thought of music - and swore deep heart's oaths <br />(Polite to God) and retreated and came on again, <br />Again retreated a second time, faced the screen.<br /><br />Ivor Gurney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-silent-one-4/
