A Thrush In The Trenches

Suddenly he sang across the trenches, vivid in the fleeting hush as a star-shell through the smashed black branches, a more than English thrush. Suddenly he sang, and those who listened nor moved nor wondered, but heard, all bewitched, the sweet unhastened crystal Magnificat. One crouched, a muddied rifle clasping, and one filled grenade, but little cared they, while he went lisping the one cleat tune he had. Paused horror, hate and Hell a moment, (you could almost hear the sigh) and still he sang to them, and so went (suddenly) singing by.