But the day when it came was a troubled day,
And the road I took was a troubled way.
Then never a will I had of my own,
And never a step did I travel alone.
We marched by day, and we marched by night,
Through the Sun's hot gold, or the Moon's cool light.
We marched with laughter, we marched with song,
Or in dreadful silence we marched along.
The man at my right cursed low at his fate,
The man at my left smiled early and late.
And the faces I saw at the edge of day,
Were young, young faces, turned old and grey.
The field where poppies flashed red in the wheat,
Was a hell we tramped through on stumbling feet.
I forgot I had said "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover."
Out on the roads where the guns took toll
I gave little heed to my faith, or my soul.
In the trenches where only the dead could rest,
Life was a candle-flame—Death was a jest.