God, it would be silly.
Outside the gas-shells were still coming in. The lamp showed through a faint bluish haze. Everyone was still waiting.
Another hour.
Martin began to recite to himself the only thing he could remember, over and over again in time to the ticking of his watch.
"Ah, sunflower, weary of time.
Ah, sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Ah, sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest ..."
"One, two, three, four," he counted the shells outside exploding at irregular intervals.
There were periods of absolute silence, when he could hear batteries pong, pong, pong in the distance.
He began again.
"Ah, sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun
In search of that far golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done.
"Where the youth pined away with desire
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where my sunflower wishes to go."