As cold stock nestled at colder cheek
And foresight lined on the breast.
“Fire!” called the Sergeant-Major.
The muzzles flamed as he spoke:
And the shameless soul of a nameless man
Went up in the cordite-smoke.
THE EYE AND THE TRUTH
Up from the fret of the earth-world, through the Seven Circles of Flame,
With the seven holes in Its tunic for sign of the death-in-shame,