And back, far back, is heard the noise of wheels
From Prussian waggons on the Douai road;
And flares shoot upward with a startling hiss
And fall, and flame intolerably close,
So that it seems no living man could miss—
How huge my head must look, my legs how gross!—
Or the live air is full of droning hums
And cracking whips and whispering snakes of fire,
And a loud buzz of conversation comes
From Simpson's party putting out some wire.