IF I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath, I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death. You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel, Reading the Roll of Honour. 'Poor young chap,' I'd say -- 'I used to know his father well; Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap.' And when the war is done and youth stone dead, I'd toddle safely home and die -- in bed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITANY OF ATLANTA by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAUN [OR, FAWN] by ANDREW MARVELL PARRHASIUS by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS ONCE WITH DEATH NEAR by REBA MAXWELL AVERY THE SHADOWED ROAD by WILLIAM ROSE BENET SONNET: DREAM-LOVE by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 4 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRACANI by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |