XI
Back from it, back! The quelling mandate rang,
As the mad moment swooped upon the dream.
Straight heathered hillside, mountain, loch, and stream
Flashed out of sight, and but the shrapnel sang,
And greater guns with stunning double clang
Rocked the earth under us. It well might seem
All hell was in the air—not without gleam
Of hope, the worst might prove the final pang.
Men crouched together, shaken as they took
That presence far too massive for their fear,
A quivering sense that something tidal welled
Over their perfect helplessness, and shook
The core of being; yet that being held.
We knew a limber clattered to the rear.
Rastatt, 30th April