Siegfried Sassoon

(1886 - 1967 / Kent / England)

Attack


AT dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun
In the wild purple of the glow'ring sun,
Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud
The menacing scarred slope; and, one by one,
Tanks creep and topple forward to the wire.
The barrage roars and lifts. Then, clumsily bowed
With bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear,
Men jostle and climb to meet the bristling fire.
Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear,
They leave their trenches, going over the top,
While time ticks blank and busy on their wrists,
And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists,
Flounders in mud. O Jesus, make it stop!

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Rookie Michael Harmon (6/26/2009 1:06:00 PM)

    This is about as close to feeling what trench warfare is like as I would ever wish to get; the second half of the final line stops you dead in your tracks. (Report) Reply

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