Screaming like angry stallions,
His shells came charging back,
And stamped the ground with thunder-hooves and pawed it spouting-black
And breathed down poison-stenches
Upon us, leaping past....
Panting, we turned his trenches;
And heard—each time we cast
From parapet to parados—the scything bullet-blast.
Till the whistle told his coming;
Till we flung away the pick,