Out of the smoke and dust of the little room …
Ivor Gurney
Watching the dark my spirit rose in flood …
As I went up by Ovillers …
After the dread tales and red yarns of the Line …
She was a village …
One would remember still …
Lying in dug-outs, joking idly, wearily; …
If it were not for England, who would bear …
Only the wanderer …
Little did I dream, England, that you bore me …
He's gone, and all our plans …
Now, youth, the hour of thy dread passion comes; …
When I remember plain heroic strength …