With dying eyes and lolling heads,—those ashen-grey
Masks of the lad who once were keen and kind and gay?
Have you forgotten yet?…
Look up, and swear by the green of the Spring that you’ll never forget.
Mr. Sitwell’s satires—which occupy the most interesting pages of Argonaut and Juggernaut—seldom take us into the trenches. Mr. Sitwell gets all the subjects he wants in London clubs and drawing-rooms. These “free-verse” satires do not lend themselves readily to quotation, but both the manner and the mood of them can be guessed from the closing verses of War-horses, in which the “septuagenarian butterflies” of Society return to their platitudes and parties after seeing the war through:
But now
They have come out.
They have preened
And dried themselves
After their blood bath.