Robert W. Service,
Rhymes of a Red-Cross Man — L'Envoi
(1916)
“ There print-platoons are weak, but might be worse. And as in marshalled order I review them, My type-brigades, unfearful of the fray, My eyes that seek their faults are seeing through them Immortal visions of an epic day.It seems I'm in a giant bowling-alley; The hidden heavies round me crash and thud; A spire snaps like a pipe-stem in the valley; The rising sun is like a ball of blood. Along the road the "fantassins" are pouring, And some are gay as fire, and some steel-stern. . . . ”
