Meanwhile we want a foretaste of the joy
That so much tedious tramping merely stifles:
We want to fall upon our—well, deploy,
And less of "Stand at ease" and fruitless trifles;
Der Tag will come (we whisper it with coy
Half-bated murmurings), when we have rifles
And uniforms. I want a uniform,
Even if not of khaki's steadfast fibre,
To make the bright-eyed maidens' hearts more warm
And still the mockings of the street-boy giber;