After the dread tales and red yams of the Line br Anything might have come to us; but the divine br Afterglow brought us up to a Welsh colony br Hiding in sandbag ditches, whispering consolatory br Soft foreign things. Then we were taken in br To low huts candle-lit shaded close by slitten br Oilsheets, and there but boys gave us kind welcome; br So that we looked out as from the edge of home. br Sang us Welsh things, and changed all former notions br To human hopeful things. And the next days' guns br Nor any line-pangs ever quite could blot out br That strangely beautiful entry to War's rout, br Candles they gave us precious and shared over-rations — br Ulysses found little more in his wanderings without doubt. br 'David of the white rock', the' Slumber Song' so soft, and that br Beautiful tune to which roguish words by Welsh pit boys br Are sung — but never more beautiful than here under the guns' noise.