Dawn on the Somme

Last night rain fell over the scarred plateau

And now from the dark horizon, dazzling, flies

Arrow on fire-plumed arrow to the skies

Shot from the bright arc of Apollo's bow;

And from the wild and writhen waste below,

From flashing pools and mounds lit one by one,

O is it mist or are these companies

Of morning heroes who arise, arise

With thrusting arms, with limbs and hair aglow

Toward the risen god, upon whose brow

Burns the gold laurel of all victories,

Hero and hero's god, th' invincible Sun?