Ramparts of slaughter and peril- Blazing, amazing, aglow- 'Twixt the sky-line's belting beryl And the wine-dark flats below.

Royal the pageant closes, Lit by the last of the sun- Opal and ash-of-roses, Cinnamon, umber, and dun.

The twilight swallows the thicket, The starlight reveals the ridge. The whistle shrills to the picket- We are changing guard on the bridge.

(Few, forgotten and lonely, Where the empty metals shine - No, not combatants-only Details guarding the line.)

We slip through the broken panel Of fence by the ganger's shed; We drop to the waterless channel And the lean track overhead;

We stumble on refuse of rations, The beef and the biscuit-tins; We take our appointed stations, And the endless night begins.

We hear the Hottentot herders As the sheep click past to the fold- And the click of the restless girders