"Sleep on, pale Bruges, beneath the waning moon,
For I must desecrate your silence soon,
And with my bombs' fierce roar and fiercer fire
Grim terror in your tired heart inspire;
For I must wake your children in their beds
And send the sparrows fluttering on the leads."
--_The Bombing of Bruges._
Overhead sounds the beating of many engines, and here and there across
the stars I can see moving lights. The first two or three machines are
already up. The carry-on signal has been given. A machine which has just
left the aerodrome passes a few hundred feet overhead with a roar and a
rush. Its dark shape blots out the stars, and I can see the long blue
flames pouring back from the exhaust-pipes of the engines.