 | War poems |  |
82
If
If you can lend your money to McKenna,
And keep on lending all you have to spare;
If you believe that “simple things like senna
Are just as good as the best Brighton air”;
If you can wrastle six days in the City,
Running the show short-handed, or alone,
And never have your moments of self-pity
And never once say “Bless the telephone!”
And keep on lending all you have to spare;
If you believe that “simple things like senna
Are just as good as the best Brighton air”;
If you can wrastle six days in the City,
Running the show short-handed, or alone,
And never have your moments of self-pity
And never once say “Bless the telephone!”
If you can face the rain on homeward buses,
To save the cost of the old taxi ride,
And wonder why young people make such fusses
When “24's” are few and “full inside”;
If you can don your “country” coat and breeches
And dine in state off yesterday's cold joint,
And read the missus Mr. Asquith's speeches
And reason with her till she sees the point;
To save the cost of the old taxi ride,
And wonder why young people make such fusses
When “24's” are few and “full inside”;
If you can don your “country” coat and breeches
And dine in state off yesterday's cold joint,
And read the missus Mr. Asquith's speeches
And reason with her till she sees the point;
83
If you survey “the drama as it passes,”
Without a thought of this or that man's guile;
If you deny that Ministers are asses,
And pay the taxes with a friendly smile;
If you can write before your son's name, “Private,”
And never wish he wore a nice red tab;
If on mature reflection, you arrive at
The view that life in war-time isn't drab;
Without a thought of this or that man's guile;
If you deny that Ministers are asses,
And pay the taxes with a friendly smile;
If you can write before your son's name, “Private,”
And never wish he wore a nice red tab;
If on mature reflection, you arrive at
The view that life in war-time isn't drab;
If you can hear without a secret quailing
That there were losses in last night's advance;
If you can meet the postman without paling,
And open telegrams with nonchalance;
If you can read the letter from the Major,
That puts a “finis” to your earthly joy,
And stand up straight—and stiff-lipped—you may wager
That, on the whole, you are a Man, old boy!
That there were losses in last night's advance;
If you can meet the postman without paling,
And open telegrams with nonchalance;
If you can read the letter from the Major,
That puts a “finis” to your earthly joy,
And stand up straight—and stiff-lipped—you may wager
That, on the whole, you are a Man, old boy!
| War poems | |