Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Battle</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1. <br>Noon</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is midday; the deep trench glares….<br>A buzz and blaze of flies….<br>The hot wind puffs the giddy airs….<br>The great sun rakes the skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No sound in all the stagnant trench<br>Where forty standing men<br>Endure the sweat and grit and stench,<br>Like cattle in a pen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes a sniper's bullet whirs<br>Or twangs the whining wire,<br>Sometimes a soldier sighs and stirs<br>As in hell's frying fire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From out a high, cool cloud descends<br>An aeroplane's far moan,<br>The sun strikes down, the thin cloud rends….<br>The black speck travels on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And sweating, dazed, isolate<br>In the hot trench beneath,<br>We bide the next shrewd move of fate<br>Be it of life or death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2. <br>Night Bombardment</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Softly in the silence the evening rain descends….<br>The soft wind lifts the rain-mist, flurries it, and spends<br>Itself in mournful sighs, drifting from field to field,<br>Soaking the draggled sprays which the low hedges wield<br>As they labour in the wet and the load of the wind.<br>The last light is dimming. Night comes on behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear no sound but the wind and the rain,<br>And trample of horses, loud and lost again<br>Where the wagons in the mist rumble dimly on<br>Bringing more shell.<br>The last gleam is gone.<br>It is not day or night; only the mists unroll<br>And blind with their sorrow the sight of my soul.<br>I hear the wind weeping in the hollow overhead:<br>She goes searching for the forgotten dead<br>Hidden in the hedges or trodden into muck<br>Under the trenches or maybe limply stuck<br>Somewhere in the branches of a high, lonely tree -<br>He was a sniper once. They never found his body.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see the mist drifting. I hear the wind, the rain,<br>And on my clammy face the oozed breath of the slain<br>Seems to be blowing. Almost I have heard<br>In the shuddering drift the lost dead's last word:<br>Go home, go home, go to my house,<br>Knock at the door, knock hard, arouse<br>My wife and the children - that you must do -<br>What d' you say? - Tell the children too -<br>Knock at the door, knock hard, and arouse<br>The living. Say: the dead won't come back to this house.<br>Oh… but it's cold - I soak in the rain -<br>Shrapnel found me - I shan't go home again.<br>No, not home again - The mourning voices trail<br>Away into rain, into darkness… the pale<br>Soughing of the night drifts on in between.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Voices were as if the dead had never been.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O melancholy heavens, O melancholy fields!<br>The glad, full darkness grows complete and shields<br>Me from your appeal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With a terrible delight<br>I hear far guns low like oxen, at the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Flames disrupt the sky. The work is begun.<br>'Action!' My guns crash, flame, rock, and stun<br>Again and again. Soon the soughing night<br>Is loud with their clamour and leaps with their light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The imperative chorus rises sonorous and fell:<br>My heart glows lighted as by fires of hell,<br>Sharply I pass the terse orders down.<br>The guns stun and rock. The hissing rain is blown<br>Athwart the hurtling shell that shrilling, shrilling goes<br>Away into the dark to burst a cloud of rose<br>Over their trenches.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A pause: I stand and see<br>Lifting into the night like founts incessantly,<br>The pistol-lights' pale spores upon the glimmering air…<br>Under them furrowed trenches empty, pallid, bare….<br>And rain snowing trenchward ghostly and white,<br>O dead in the hedges, sleep ye well to-night!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Nichols">Robert Nichols</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507822" data-title="Battle de Robert Nichols" data-description="1. 
Noon

It is midday; the deep trench glares….
A buzz and blaze of flies….
The hot wind puffs the giddy airs….
The great sun rakes the skies.

No sound in all the stagnant trench
Where forty standing men
Endure the sweat and grit and stenc..."></div>
</div>
</div>