English poem
Ballad Of The Three Spectres
by Ivor Gurney
AS I went up by Ovillers In mud and water cold to the knee, There went three jeering, fleering spectres, That walked abreast and talked of me.
The first said, “Here’s a right brave soldier That walks the dark unfearingly; Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher, And laughing for a nice Blighty.”
The second, “Read his face, old comrade, No kind of lucky chance I see; One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow, Then look his last on Picardie.”
Though bitter the word of these first twain Curses the third spat venomously; “He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning Then live one hour of agony.”
Liars the first two were. Behold me At sloping arms by one--two--three; Waiting the time I shall discover Whether the third spake verity.