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From 'The Deceitful Calm' Poems by Edmund Blunden Gouzeaucourt: The deceitful calm
How unpurposed, how inconsequential Seemed those southern lines when in the pallor Of the dying winter First we went there!
Grass thin-waving in the wind approached them, Red roofs in the near view feigned survival, Lovely mockers, when we There took over.
There war’s holiday seemed, nor though at known times Gusts of flame and jingling steel descended On the bare tracks, would you Picture death there.
Snow or rime-frost made a solemn silence, Bluish darkness wrapped in dangerous safety; Old hands thought of tidy Living-trenches!
There it was, my dears, that I departed, Scarce a greater traitor ever! There too Many of you soon paid for That false mildness.
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