No More Learning

Again
A sortie is made--all too vainly. The bridge still commanded the Aisne.

We were fighting two foes--Time and Prussia--the moments were worth more
than troops.
We _must_ blow up the bridge. A lone soldier darts out from the Royals
and swoops
For the fuse! Fate seems with us. We cheer him; he answers--our hopes
are reborn!
A ball rips his visor--his khaki shows red where another has torn.

Will he live--will he last--will he make it? _Helas! _ And so near to the
goal!
A second, he dies! then a third one! A fourth! Still the Germans take
toll!
A fifth, _magnifique_! It is magic! How does he escape them? He may. . . .
Yes, he _does_! See, the match flares! A rifle rings out from the wood
and says "Nay! "

Six, seven, eight, nine take their places, six, seven, eight, nine brave
their hail;
Six, seven, eight, nine--how we count them! But the sixth, seventh,
eighth, and ninth fail!
A tenth! _Sacre nom! _ But these English are soldiers--they know how to
try;
(He fumbles the place where his jaw was)--they show, too, how heroes can
die.

Ten we count--ten who ventured unquailing--ten there were--and ten are
no more!