HE turned to me with his kind, sleepy gaze And fresh face slowly brightening to the grin That sets my memory back to summer days, With twenty runs to make, and last man in. He told me he'd been having a bloody time In trenches, crouching for the crumps to burst, While squeaking rats scampered across the slime And the grey palsied weather did its worst. But as he stamped and shivered in the rain, My stale philosophies had served him well; Dreaming about his girl had sent his brain Blanker than ever -- she'd no place in Hell.... 'Good God!' he laughed, and slowly filled his pipe, Wondering 'why he always talked such tripe'. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1914: 2. SAFETY by RUPERT BROOKE THE STORMING OF STONY POINT [JULY 16, 1779] by ARTHUR GUITERMAN THE WHITE CITY by CLAUDE MCKAY THE MODERN MOTHER by ALICE MEYNELL GRIN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE PROMETHEUS BOUND: PROMETHEUS THE TEACHER OF MEN by AESCHYLUS |