Explore "A Dead Boche" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To you who'd read my songs of War / And only hear of blood and fame, / I'll say (you've heard it said before) / "War's Hell! " and if you doubt the same, / Today I found in Mametz Wood / A certain cure for lust of blood:
Where, propped against a shattered trunk, / In a great mess of things unclean, / Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk / With clothes and face a sodden green, / Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired, / Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.