"In the Trenches," Hewlett

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In the Trenches

As I lay in the trenches

Under the Hunter's Moon,

My mind ran to the lenches

Cut in a Wiltshire down.

I saw their long black shadows,

The beeches in the lane,

The gray church in the meadows

And my white cottage—plain.

Thinks I, the down lies dreaming

Under that hot moon's eye,

Which sees the shells fly screaming

And men and horses die.

And what makes she, I wonder,

Of the horror and the blood,

And what's her luck, to sunder

The evil from the good?

'T was more than I...