The sunrise on the frosty hills
Comes like old kings in purple fine:
And then the black sails of the mills
Take joy and rosy-golden shine:
And a wind arises out of the east
Like a brandished sword in the hand of God,
And keener than swords, and plainer than words
Flashes and shrills on the long churlish hills
And the hedges grieve and the tall trees nod,
Brooding on war that shall ride rough-shod,
Held at bay so long, where braggart-bold
The surly boor lives the life of a beast,
Rooting and cavilling and jangling for gold
From the men who come down from the hell of the line.
“Christmas in Site of Ypres,” by Blunden, Edmund (1896-1974). © The Harry Ransom Center / The Edmund Blunden Literary Estate via First World War Poetry Digital Archive, accessed August 5, 2015, http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/collections/item/9201