Stories
Herbert Asquith
When lights are out and Pat’s in bed,
He tells a story from his head
Of men who fight by sea and land
With cutlasses in either hand.
Who make their mouths into a sheath
And sharpen dirks upon their teeth;
And schooners heeling to the breeze
That blows across the coral seas,
With kegs of rum and bars of gold
And corpses rolling in the hold.
Then far below the dining-room
Pours out its voices: through the gloom
Borne on tobacco-laden air
The roar of talk comes up the stair,
But where are now the coral seas
And where is Pat? Lost on the breeze
With streaming flag the schooner fades
And takes her captain to the shades.