O the terror of the Battle at this ending of the days!
O the thunder of the wings through the gloom!
O the thousand thousand companies that strew the sombre ways
To achieve this final doom!
Where the flames disrupt the night and the hell-fumes flee,
'Mid the darkness and the splitting of the skies,
Only your young white wistful face I see,
My brother, only your eyes!
_March_ 1918