“We’ve fetched en back to quick from dead;
But never more on earth while rose is red
Will drum rouse Corpel!” Doctor said
O’ me at Valencieën.
’Twer true. No voice o’ friend or foe
Can reach me now, or any livèn beën;
And little have I power to know
Since then at Valencieën!
I never hear the zummer hums
O’ bees; and don’ know when the cuckoo comes;
But night and day I hear the bombs
We threw at Valencieën . . .
As for the Duke o’ Yark in war,
There be some volk whose judgment o’ en is mean;
But this I say—a was not far
From great at Valencieën.
O’ wild wet nights, when all seems sad,
My wownds come back, as though new wownds I’d had;
But yet—at times I’m sort o’ glad
I fout at Valencieën.
Well: Heaven wi’ its jasper halls
Is now the on’y Town I care to be in . . .
Good Lord, if Nick should bomb the walls
As we did Valencieën!
1878–1897.
SAN SEBASTIAN
(August 1813)
With Thoughts of Sergeant M— (Pensioner), who died 185–.
“Why, Sergeant, stray on the Ivel Way,
As though at home there were spectres rife?
From first to last ’twas a proud career!
And your sunny years with a gracious wife
Have brought you a daughter dear.