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IN THE MORNING 85
A little grey church at the foot of a hill,
With powdered glass on the window-sill. The shell-scarred stone and the broken tile,
Littered the chancel, nave and aisle— Broken the altar and smashed the pyx, And the rubble covered the crucifix; This we saw when the charge was done,
And the gas-clouds paled in the rising sun,
As we entered Loos in the morning.
The dead men lay on the shell-scarred plain, Where Death and the Autumn held their reign—
Like banded ghosts in the heavens grey The smoke of the powder paled away;
Where riven and rent the spinney trees Shivered and shook in the sullen breeze, |
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