Ballad of the Three Spectres

As I went up by Ovillers
In mud and water cold to the knee,
There went three jeering, fleering spectres,
That walked abreast and talked of me.

The first said, “Here’s a right brave soldier
That walks the dark unfearingly;
Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher,
And laughing for a nice Blighty.”

The second, “Read his face, old comrade,
No kind of lucky chance I see;
One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow,
Then look his last on Picardie.”

Though bitter the word of these first twain
Curses the third spat venomously;
“He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning
Then live one hour of agony.”

Liars the first two were. Behold me
At sloping arms by one--two--three;
Waiting the time I shall discover
Whether the third spake verity.