YPRES
On the Thirty-First of July, 1917
I Dedicate this Book
"... Henceforth
These are our saints.
These that we touched, and kissed,
And frowned upon;
These that were frail, yet died because the good
Was overthrown.
That they in one dread hour
Were terrible
Stains not their sainthood, nor is heaven less sure
That they knew hell.
How beautiful they are,
How bright their eyes.
Their hands have grasped the key
Of Paradise!
They hold it out to us,
Our men, our sons
... To us
The lonely ones."
—Thomas Moult.[1]