(GREAT WAR) SQUIRE nagged and bullied till I went to fight, (Under Lord Derby's Scheme). I died in hell -- (They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight, And I was hobbling back; and then a shell Burst slick upon the duck-boards: so I fell Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light. At sermon-time, while Squire is in his pew, He gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare: For, though low down upon the list, I'm there; 'In proud and glorious memory' ... that's my due. Two bleeding years I fought in France, for Squire: I suffered anguish that he's never guessed. Once I came home on leave: and then went west... What greater glory could a man desire? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS FOR MUSIC (2) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON HYMN TO ADVERSITY by THOMAS GRAY THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 9. JURIS DOCTOR ... BOTTINIUS by ROBERT BROWNING THE SACRAMENT OF PAIN by WILLIAM ARTHUR DUNKERLEY PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER by BONNIE D. ELKIN FREEDOM AND TRUTH by SARAH MARGARET FULLER |