 | Poems : medley and Palestina |  |
The Boy Soldier.
O my sunny
Boy, my beauty,
Mad to strike a blow!
Not for money,
Not for duty
Would I let thee go.
Boy, my beauty,
Mad to strike a blow!
Not for money,
Not for duty
Would I let thee go.
19
Spare the mother,
Growing hoary,
Not for long below;
Let another
Win the glory,
Rushing on the foe.
Growing hoary,
Not for long below;
Let another
Win the glory,
Rushing on the foe.
Ah, the ruddy
Soldier laddie,
Waking all aglow!
What a bloody
Slumber had he
Ere the sun was low!
Soldier laddie,
Waking all aglow!
What a bloody
Slumber had he
Ere the sun was low!
Half a city,
Treading slowly,
Joined the funeral show.
Grant me pity,
Holy, holy
Comforter of woe!
Treading slowly,
Joined the funeral show.
Grant me pity,
Holy, holy
Comforter of woe!
| Poems : medley and Palestina | |