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The Zeppelin

 Guns! far and near 
Quick, sudden, angry, 
They startle the still street, 
Upturned faces appear, 
Doors open on darkness, 
There is a hurrying of feet, 
And whirled athwart gloom 
White fingers of alarm 
Point at last there 
Where illumined and dumb 
A shape suspended 
Hovers, a demon of the starry air! 
Strange and cold as a dream 
Of sinister fancy, 
It charms like a snake, 
Poised deadly in the gleam, 
While bright explosions 
Leap up to it and break.
Is it terror you seek To exult in? Know then Hearts are here That the plunging beak Of night-winged murder Strikes not with fear So much as it strings To a deep elation And a quivering pride That at last the hour brings For them too the danger Of those who died, Of those who yet fight Spending for each of us Their glorious blood In the foreign night.
— That now we are neared to them Thank we God.

Poem by Laurence Binyon
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