A JUNKER INTERLUDE.
Once more the Militant Mode recurs
With clank of sabre and clink of spurs;
Once more the long grey cloaks adorn
The bellicose backs of the high-well-born;
Once more to the click of martial boots
Junkers exchange their grave salutes,
Taking the pavement, large with side,
Shoulders padded and elbows wide;
And if a civilian dares to mutter
They boost him off and he bites the gutter.
Down by the Brandenburger Thor
Kitchens are worked by cooks of war;
Loyal moustaches cease to sag,
Leaping for joy of the old war-flag;
Drums are beating and bugles blare
And passionate bandsmen rip the air;
Prussia's original ardour rallies
At the sound of Deutschland über alles,
And warriors slap their fighting pants
To the tune Heil dir im Siegeskranz.
Life, in a word, recalls the phase
Of the glorious Hohenzollern days.
What if a War's meanwhile occurred
And talk of a humbling Peace been heard?
Treaties are meant to be torn in two
And wars are made to be fought anew.
Hoch! for the Tag, by land and main,
When the Monarchy comes to its own again.
Surely tho wind of it, faint but sweet,
The Old Man sniffed in his Dutch retreat;
Surely it gave his pulse a jog
As he went for his thirteen thousandth log,
Possibly causing the axe to jam
When he thought of his derelict Potsdam,
Of his orb mislaid and his head's deflation,
And visions arose of a Restoration.
(If not for himself, it might be done
For Little Willie or Willie's son).
Alas for the chances of child or sire!
The coup went phut, for the Kapp missed fire.
O.S.