‘O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,’ he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed, or prayed indeed,
The Bullets chirped—In vain! vain! vain!
Machine-guns chuckled,—Tut-tut! Tut-tut!
And the Big Gun guffawed.
Another sighed,—‘O Mother, mother! Dad!’
Then smiled, at nothing, childlike, being dead.
And the lofty Shrapnel-cloud
And the falling splinters tittered.
‘My Love!’ one moaned. Love-languid seemed his mood,
Till, slowly lowered, his whole face kissed the mud.
And the Bayonets’ long teeth grinned;
Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned;
And the Gas hissed.
Source: The Collected Poems of Wilfred Owen
(New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1965)