SONG-BOOKS OF THE WAR
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n fifty years, when peace outshinesRemembrance of the battle lines,Adventurous lads will sigh and castProud looks upon the plundered past.On summer morn or winter's night,Their hearts will kindle for the fight,Reading a snatch of soldier-song,Savage and jaunty, fierce and strong;And through the angry marching rhymesOf blind regret and haggard mirth,They'll envy us the dazzling timesWhen sacrifice absolved our earth. Some ancient man with silver locksWill lift his weary face to say:"War was a fiend who stopped our clocksAlthough we met him grim and gay."And then he'll speak of Haig's last drive,Marvelling that any came aliveOut of the shambles that men builtAnd smashed, to cleanse the world of guilt.But the boys, with grin and sidelong glance,Will think, "Poor grandad's day is done."And dream of those who fought in FranceAnd lived in time to share the fun.
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