Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald;
Squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls;
A homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stooked field,
With sound of barking dogs and farmyard fowls.
And he'd come home again to find it more
Desirable than ever it was before.
How right it seemed that he should reach the span
Of comfortable years allowed to man!
Splendid to eat and sleep and choose a wife,
Safe with his wound, a citizen of life.
He hobbled blithely through the garden gate,
And thought; "Thank God they had to amputate!"
RETURN OF THE HEROES
A lady watches from the crowd,
Enthusiastic, flushed, and proud.
"Oh! there's Sir Henry Dudster! Such a splendid leader!
How pleased he looks! What rows of ribbons on his tunic!
Such dignity…. Saluting…. (Wave your flag … now, Freda!)…
Yes, dear, I saw a Prussian General once,—at Munich.
"Here's the next carriage!… Jack was once in Leggit's Corps;
That's him!… I think the stout one is Sir Godfrey Stoomer.
They must feel sad to know they can't win any more
Great victories!… Aren't they glorious men?… so full of humour!"
III
TWELVE MONTHS AFTER
Hullo! here's my platoon, the lot I had last year.
"The War'll be over soon."
"What 'opes?"
"No bloody fear!"
Then, "Number Seven, 'shun! All present and correct."
They're standing in the sun, impassive and erect.
Young Gibson with his grin; and Morgan, tired and white;
Jordan, who's out to win a D.C.M. some night:
And Hughes that's keen on wiring; and Davies ('79),
Who always must be firing at the Boche front line.