 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
126
The Diners
“They died content,” he said,
And bent a well-groomed head
Sweetly above the soup:
“Ah, splendid lads!” he sighed,
“And . . . (Waiter!) . . . think!—they died
Content! . . . (the cantaloup
Wasn't quite ripe enough).
Real top-hole lads and tough!—
A lesson for those swine!—
(Yes, yes—uncork the wine!)
And bent a well-groomed head
Sweetly above the soup:
“Ah, splendid lads!” he sighed,
“And . . . (Waiter!) . . . think!—they died
Content! . . . (the cantaloup
Wasn't quite ripe enough).
Real top-hole lads and tough!—
A lesson for those swine!—
(Yes, yes—uncork the wine!)
“Top-hole, I tell you!—(pish,
I'm not so keen on fish!—
Don't matter—eat it, dear)—
Beat us? Good Lord! No fear!—
With lads like that about!
(Well, well—they call it trout!)
Where can you match 'em? (Oh—
Pâtés of riz de veau!)
I'm not so keen on fish!—
Don't matter—eat it, dear)—
Beat us? Good Lord! No fear!—
With lads like that about!
(Well, well—they call it trout!)
Where can you match 'em? (Oh—
Pâtés of riz de veau!)
“All heroes!—(Gad—that's Jones—
Wolfing his damned grilled bones—
Pardon—but really—well—
Grilled bones for dinner! . . . “Pell-Mell”?
No, darling, let us go
And see the other show)—
Our chaps are simply ‘it’!—
(Not just the weeniest bit?
The waiting here's absurd:
When will they bring the bird?)
Wolfing his damned grilled bones—
127
Grilled bones for dinner! . . . “Pell-Mell”?
No, darling, let us go
And see the other show)—
Our chaps are simply ‘it’!—
(Not just the weeniest bit?
The waiting here's absurd:
When will they bring the bird?)
“They died content! . . . (Don't look—
There's Mumble and the duke
And Mrs. M.—Of course
She does laugh like a horse!)—
They died like gentlemen!
(Chicken? No—ancient hen!—
But still the salad's good)—
My God—the British blood!
There's Mumble and the duke
And Mrs. M.—Of course
She does laugh like a horse!)—
They died like gentlemen!
(Chicken? No—ancient hen!—
But still the salad's good)—
My God—the British blood!
“You very nearly kissed
That fearful Casualty List?—
Ah, precious, you've a heart!—
(What excellent strawberry tart!)—
Yes, Haig 's O.K., you bet
He'll smother 'em—and yet
There must be sacrifice!—
(I shouldn't risk the ice!)
That fearful Casualty List?—
Ah, precious, you've a heart!—
(What excellent strawberry tart!)—
Yes, Haig 's O.K., you bet
He'll smother 'em—and yet
There must be sacrifice!—
(I shouldn't risk the ice!)
“(Coffee for two—no cream!)
It all seems like a dream:
Still, we shall win right through,
As we were bound to do. . . .
They died content!—(Why, sure!—
Did-ums want its liqueur? . . .
And, waiter—that cigar!
And, waiter—call the car!—
And, waiter—bring the bill!—
These ‘neutrals’ make me ill!)”
It all seems like a dream:
Still, we shall win right through,
As we were bound to do. . . .
128
Did-ums want its liqueur? . . .
And, waiter—that cigar!
And, waiter—call the car!—
And, waiter—bring the bill!—
These ‘neutrals’ make me ill!)”
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |