I stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still:   
When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead.   
And my slow heart said, 'You must kill, you must kill:   
'Soldier, soldier, morning is red'.   
   
On the shapes of the slain in their crumpled disgrace  
I stared for a while through the thin cold rain...   
'O lad that I loved, there is rain on your face,   
'And your eyes are blurred and sick like the plain.'   
   
I stood with the Dead ... They were dead; they were dead;   
My heart and my head beat a march of dismay:  
And gusts of the wind came dulled by the guns.   
'Fall in!' I shouted; 'Fall in for your pay!'