Suddenly he awoke and was running – raw
In raw-seamed hot khaki, his sweat heavy,
Stumbling across a field of clods towards
a green hedge
That dazzled with rifle fire, hearing
Bullets smacking the belly out of the air –
He lugged a rifle numb as a smashed
arm;
The patriotic tear that had
brimmed in his eye
Sweating like molten iron from the centre of his chest, –
In bewilderment then he almost stopped –
In what cold clockwork of the stars and the nations
Was
he the hand pointing
that second? He was running
Like a man who has jumped up in the dark and runs
Listening between his footfalls
for the reason
Of his still running, and his foot hung like
Statuary in
mid-stride. Then the shot-slashed furrows
Threw up a yellow hare that rolled like a flame
And crawled in a threshing circle,
its mouth wide
Open silent, its eyes standing
out.
He plunged past with his bayonet toward the green hedge,
King, honour, human dignity, etcetera
Dropped like luxuries
in a yelling alarm
To
get out of that blue crackling air
His terror’s touchy dynamite.
TED HUGHES
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