As I was walking down Oxford Street
Ten fierce soldiers I chanced to meet,
They wore big slouch hats with khaki sashes,
And talked like the angry guns, in flashes.
And my friend said to me, "They come from Australia;
Villainous fellows for War's regalia.
John Briton keeps a tobacconist's shed
And twice they have held a gun at his head."
Well, I would have given all I had
To have gone with the bunch of them, good or bad,
To have heard the wickedest say, "Old fellow!"
And staunched his wounds where the black guns bellow.
I'd have thought it a merry thing to die
With such stalwart comrades standing by.
One of them had round eyes like coals—
True parson's quarry when he hunts souls.
The brawniest made my heart turn queer;
The devil in hell would have shunned his leer.
And the tallest and thinnest bore visible traces
Of his banished grandsire's vanished graces.
But all the lot of that swaggering ten
Were terrible, fine, strong soldier-men;
And I fairly sobbed at the four cross ways
As my triumphing soul sang England's praise.
O! all the Germans in Berlin town
Couldn't put those ten Australians down.

THE NEW BEGINNING

They had fought the last desperate battle.
They had deluged the earth with their rage
And the crimson flood mounted to Heaven,
And drew up each soul from its grave.
And sent them foeman with foeman
To shatter the quiet of the skies.
And lo! they commingled together
With the hope of God in their eyes.
And in faith they went peacefully singing,
And waking dead stars to new birth,
Till Earth knew Heaven as her lover,
And Heaven leaned down gracious to Earth,
And tendered her blossoms of healing,
And rained on her kindness of tears,
And gave back in trust to her lover
The bloom of the sacrificed years.

A GAME OF CHESS

We ranged the chessmen on the chequered deal.
And then I said, "To make the game more real
We'll play the Great War. I'll be Germany;
For you, I guess, the Goth would never be."
And thus it came that I chose black—he, white.
He on Truth's side; I clothed myself with night.
And, crying for a sign unto the Lord,
We cramped all Europe in a foot-square board.
We were two Causes—I, who did detest
That Wrong should triumph, though it were in jest,
Played with soul-sinews cracking, played with zest;
And, every heart-cell beating battle's drum,
I struck with Queen and pawns for Belgium.
I've never played as on that fateful night,
I fairly lost my temper in the fight,
Queens left their thrones; pawns, castles strewed the table,
There never were two causes so unstable.
And then when he'd six pieces, and I eight,
Half of them pawns, he pulled the noose of fate;
And with a knight, a castle—unawares,—
A bishop in a corner breathing prayers,
He caught me tripping. "Checkmate! Smashed!" he said,
And like a beaten Hun I stole to bed.

SNOW

My heart delights in poet's minstrelsie,
In pictures ranged down some long gallerie,
In mandolins and all sweet melodie.
And yet, when I go walking through the woods
On frosty days, and watch the falling snow,
I would renounce all Culture's radiant moods
To live in ice-lands with the Eskimo.
How purely gleams the mantle of the snow!
How softly sing the myriad silver tongues
Of whirling flakes that wrought Earth's overthrow!
With the keen air I fill my tired lungs,
And shout for joy and dance for very mirth
Because all Heaven has fallen down to Earth.
And in this mood I'd save my soul, and so
Through pure clean ways right into Heaven go.