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Siegfried Sassoon - How To Die
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Dark clouds are smouldering into red   
  While down the craters morning burns.   
The dying soldier shifts his head   
  To watch the glory that returns;   
He lifts his fingers toward the skies         
  Where holy brightness breaks in flame;   
Radiance reflected in his eyes,   
  And on his lips a whispered name.   
   
You’d think, to hear some people talk,   
  That lads go West with sobs and curses,   
And sullen faces white as chalk,   
  Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.   
But they’ve been taught the way to do it   
  Like Christian soldiers; not with haste   
And shuddering groans; but passing through it   
  With due regard for decent taste.
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