The bats flit warily and owl and rat
With muffled cries their shadowy loves pursue,
And pleasant, Corporal, it is to chat
In this hushed moment with a man like you.
How strange a spectacle of human passions
Is yours all day beside the Arras road,
What mournful men concerned about their rations
When here at eve the limbers leave their load,
What twilight blasphemy, what horses' feet
Entangled with the meat,