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BEFORE THE CHARGE
{Loos, 1915.)
The night is still and the air is keen, Tense with menace the time crawls by,
In front is the town and its homes are seen, Blurred in outline against the sky.
The dead leaves float in the sighing air, The darkness moves like a curtain drawn,
A veil which the morning sun will tear
From the face of death.—We charge at dawn. |
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5-7 |
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