ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
Patriotic pieces from the Great War. Edna D. Jones
Читать онлайн.Название Patriotic pieces from the Great War
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4064066441913
Автор произведения Edna D. Jones
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
Never on the rolling ocean had men navigated ships
Be the weather fine or dirty, without oaths upon their lips.
Even Dr. Lyman Abbott had to pause and breathe a prayer
For a man who said that sailors had not simply got to swear!
And there swept across the Nation, North and South and East and West
The unanimous conclusion that Josephus was a jest.
But when Congress started peering into things that had to do
With the arming of the warship and the comfort of the crew,
When grave statesmen asked him questions as to this and as to that
It was noticed that Josephus answered right straight off the bat.
For his drinkless, curseless navy—every unit—thanks to him,
From the dreadnoughts to the cutters, is in first-class fighting trim.
Now at last the pitying jesters (we among them) see a light,
For the fact has dawned upon us that Josephus is all right!
—James Montague
THE WOUNDED SOLDIER IN THE CONVENT
THE WOUNDED SOLDIER IN THE CONVENT
What is that clanging noise I hear
Through the still convent ringing?
It is the carriage-ambulance
A wounded soldier bringing.
Upon his coat the blood-spots shine;
He limps—a shell has caught him—
His gun he uses for a crutch,
Descending, to support him.
A veteran he, with fierce moustache—
The triple stripes he's wearing—
All prudes and hypocrites he loathes,
And starts by loudly swearing.
Well-nigh insulting are his looks,
With ill-bred gibes he rallies
The novices—beneath their caps
They blush at his coarse sallies.
If at his side, thinking he sleeps,
The sister breathes a prayer,
Straightway astir he fills his pipe
And whistles a bored air.
What use to him their faithful watch,
The care that never ceases?
He knows his leg is lost and done,
And he'll be hacked to pieces.
He's very angry—Let him be!
Here no one knows impatience,
There reigns an atmosphere that soothes
And cows the rudest patients.
Slow is the spell, but sure, that wields
This band, to service given,
With fingers soft they touch the wounds,
And softly speak of Heaven.
So subtle is their pious charm,
Our grumbler soon will see it
In his own way—and to each prayer
Make the response, "So be it!"
—Francois Coppee
HARVEST IN FLANDERS
HARVEST IN FLANDERS
In Flanders' fields the crosses stand—
Strange harvest for a fertile land!
Where once the wheat and barley grew,
With scarlet poppies running through.
This year the poppies bloom to greet
Not oats nor barley nor white wheat,
But only crosses, row by row,
Where stalwart reapers used to go.
In Flanders' fields no women sing,
As once they sang, at harvesting;
No men now come with scythes to mow
The little crosses, row by row.
The poppies wonder why the men
And women do not come again!
In Flanders, at the wind's footfall,
The crosses do not bend at all,
As wheat and barley used to do
Whenever wind went running through.
The poppies wonder when they see
The crosses stand so rigidly!
O God, to whom all men must bring
What they have done for reckoning,
At harvest-time what byre or bin
Have you to put these crosses in?
What word for men who marched to sow
Not wheat, but crosses, row by row?
Alas! Our tears can never bring
The men who came here harvesting
And come no more! We do not know
What way the singing women go,
Their songs all still! But crosses stand
Row after row in Flanders land!
—Louise Driscoll
HAY FEVER
HAY FEVER
I do not wish the Kaiser ill,
I wish him nothing that would kill,
No bombs with neatness and dispatch
To wipe him from life's kaffe klatch;
No dagger thrust between his ribs,
That would destroy His Royal Nibs;
I would not have him swiftly die,
That's much too good for such a guy;
I only wish the Kaiser might
Hay Fever get and get it right!
I wish the Kaiser's royal nose
Might know the woes my poor nose knows;
I only wish his royal chest
Might always feel a sore distress,
As mine must feel until the day
October's frost shall come our way.
I wish the royal piece of cheese
Might be forever doomed to sneeze.
Death is too good for such a