Classic Poem

Who died on the wires, and hung there, one of two —
Who for his hours of life had chattered through
Infinite lovely chatter of Bucks accent;
Yet faced unbroken wires; stepped over, and went,
A noble fool, faithful to his stripes — and ended.
But I weak, hungry, and willing only for the chance
Of line — to fight in the line, lay down under unbroken
Wires, and saw the flashes, and kept unshaken.
Till the politest voice — a finicking accent, said:
" Do you think you might crawl through, there; there's a hole:" In the afraid
Darkness, shot at; I smiled, as politely replied —
" I'm afraid not, Sir." There was no hole, no way to be seen.
Nothing but chance of death, after tearing of clothes.
Kept flat, and watched the darkness, hearing bullets whizzing —
And thought of music — and swore deep heart's deep oaths
(Polite to God — ) and retreated and came on again.
Again retreated — and a second time faced the screen.