THE MARCH
Reading edition
I heard a voice that cried, "Make way for those who died!" And all the coloured crowd like ghosts at morning fled; And down the waiting road, rank after rank there strode, In mute and measured march a hundred thousand dead.
A hundred thousand dead, with firm and noiseless tread, All shadowy-grey yet solid, with faces grey and ghast, And by the house they went, and all their brows were bent Straight forward; and they passed, and passed, and passed, and passed.
But O there came a place, and O there came a face, That clenched my heart to see it, and sudden turned my way; And in the Face that turned I saw two eyes that burned, Never-forgotten eyes, and they had things to say.
Like desolate stars they shone one moment, and were gone, And I sank down and put my arms across my head, And felt them moving past, nor looked to see the last, In steady silent march, our hundred thousand dead.