The poem
I Stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still: When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead. And my slow heart said, 'You must kill, you must kill: 'Soldier, soldier, morning is red'.
On the shapes of the slain in their crumpled disgrace I stared for a while through the thin cold rain... 'O lad that I loved, there is rain on your face, 'And your eyes are blurred and sick like the plain.'
I stood with the Dead ... They were dead; they were dead; My heart and my head beat a march of dismay: And gusts of the wind came dulled by the guns. 'Fall in!' I shouted; 'Fall in for your pay!'