Summary: Armistice Day<br> World War I poetry, in commemoration of all wars<br> “The March”<br> J.C. Squire<br> I heard a voice that cried, “Make way for those who died!”<br> And all the coloured crowd like ghosts at morning fled;<br> And down the waiting road, rank after rank there strode,<br> In mute and measured march a hundred thousand dead.<br> A hundred thousand dead, with firm and noiseless tread,<br> All shadowy-grey yet solid, with faces grey and ghast,<br> And by the house they went, and all their brows were bent<br> Straight forward; and they passed, and passed, and passed, and passed.<br> But O there came a place, and O there came a face,<br> That clenched my heart to see it, and sudden turned my way;<br> And in the Face that turned I saw two eyes that burned,<br> Never-forgotten eyes, and they had things to say.<br> Like desolate stars they shone one moment, and were gone,<br> And I sank down and put my arms across my head,<br> And felt them moving past, nor looked to see the last,<br> In steady silent march, our hundred thousand dead.<br>
