IVOR GURNEY
"Ballad of the Three Spectres"

As I went up by Ovillers
   In mud and water cold to the knee,
There went three jeering, fleering spectres,
   That walked abreast and talked of me.

The first said, ‘Here’s a right brave soldier
   That walks the dark unfearingly;
Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher,
   And laughing for a nice Blighty.’

The second, ‘Read his face, old comrade,
   No kind of lucky chance I see;
One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow,
   Then look his last on Picardie.’

Though bitter the word of these first twain
   Curses the third spat venomously;
‘He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning
   Then live one hour of agony.’

Liars the first two were. Behold me
   At sloping arms by one – two – three;
Waiting the time I shall discover
   Whether the third spake verity.