The Guards Came Through, and Other Poems

by Arthur Conan Doyle

But he's winded and done to the core,

So the last lap is here, with the tape very near,

And the old colours well to the fore.

1918

Not merry! No—the words would grate,

With gaps at every table-side,

But chastened, thankful, calm, sedate,

Be your victorious Christmas-tide.

LINDISFAIRE

Horses go down the dingy lane,