Enemies

 He stood alone in some queer sunless place 
Where Armageddon ends.
 Perhaps he longed 
For days he might have lived; but his young face 
Gazed forth untroubled: and suddenly there thronged 
Round him the hulking Germans that I shot
When for his death my brooding rage was hot.
 

He stared at them, half-wondering; and then 
They told him how I’d killed them for his sake— 
Those patient, stupid, sullen ghosts of men; 
And still there seemed no answer he could make.

At last he turned and smiled.
 One took his hand 
Because his face could make them understand.

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