The darkness crumbles away—
It is the same old druid Time as ever.
Only a living thing leaps my hand—
A queer sardonic rat—
As I pull the parapet's poppy
To stick behind my ear.

[…]

Poppies whose roots are in man's veins
Drop, and are ever dropping;
But mine in my ear is safe,
Just a little white with the dust.

One cruel backhand sabre-cut—
“I'm hit! I'm killed!” young David cries,
Throws blindly forward, chokes… and dies.
Steel-helmeted and grey and grim
Goliath straddles over him.