Suddenly he awoke and was running – raw
In raw-seamed hot khaki, his sweat heavy,
The patriotic tear that had brimmed in his eye
Sweating like molten iron from the centre of his chest, –
He was running
Like a man who has jumped up in the dark and runs
Listening between his footfalls for the reason
Of his still running,
He plunged past with his bayonet toward the green hedge,
King, honour, human dignity, etcetera
Dropped like luxuries in a yelling alarm
To get out of that blue crackling air
His terror’s touchy dynamite.