The Judgement of Valhalla
By GILBERT FRANKAU
“I’m sorry I done it, Major.”We bandaged the livid face;And led him out, ere the wan sun rose,To die his death of disgrace.The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge;The rifles steadied to rest,As cold stock nestled at colder cheekAnd foresight lined on the breast.“Fire!” called the Sergeant-Major.The muzzles flamed as he spoke:And the shameless soul of a nameless manWent up in the cordite-smoke.
“I’m sorry I done it, Major.”We bandaged the livid face;And led him out, ere the wan sun rose,To die his death of disgrace.The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge;The rifles steadied to rest,As cold stock nestled at colder cheekAnd foresight lined on the breast.“Fire!” called the Sergeant-Major.The muzzles flamed as he spoke:And the shameless soul of a nameless manWent up in the cordite-smoke.
“I’m sorry I done it, Major.”We bandaged the livid face;And led him out, ere the wan sun rose,To die his death of disgrace.
“I’m sorry I done it, Major.”
We bandaged the livid face;
And led him out, ere the wan sun rose,
To die his death of disgrace.
The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge;The rifles steadied to rest,As cold stock nestled at colder cheekAnd foresight lined on the breast.
The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge;
The rifles steadied to rest,
As cold stock nestled at colder cheek
And foresight lined on the breast.
“Fire!” called the Sergeant-Major.The muzzles flamed as he spoke:And the shameless soul of a nameless manWent up in the cordite-smoke.
“Fire!” called the Sergeant-Major.
The muzzles flamed as he spoke:
And the shameless soul of a nameless man
Went up in the cordite-smoke.