Where never falls a shell nor bursts a bomb,
Nor ever blows the slightest whiff of gas,
Such as was not infrequent in the Somme,
But on thy breast shall lean some slant-eyed lass;
And she shall listen to thy converse ripe
And search for souvenirs among thy kit,
Pass thee thy slippers and thy opium pipe
And make thee glad that thou hast done thy bit.