And we resigned positions at the front
To dally for a space behind the line,
To shed my war-worn vesture I was wont—
The G.S. boots, the puttees and the pants
That mock at cut and mar the neatest leg,
The battle-jacket with its elbows patched
And bands of leather, round its hard-used cuffs,
And, worst of all, the fuggy flannel shirt,
Rough and uncouth, that suffocates the soul;
And in their stead I donned habiliments