Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/204

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Our luck and the guns and the Boche,

When our Corporal shouted, "Stand to!"

And I heard some one cry, "Clear the front for the Guards!"

And the Guards came through.

Our throats they were parched and hot,

But Lord, if you'd heard the cheers!

Irish and Welsh and Scot,

Coldstream and Grenadiers.

Two brigades, if you please,

Dressing as straight as a hem,

We we were down on our knees,

Praying for us and for them!

Praying with tear-wet cheek,

Praying with outstretched hand.

Lord, I could speak for a week,

But how could you understand!

How should your cheeks be wet,

Such feelin's don't come to you.

But when can me or my mates forget,

When the Guards came through?

"Five yards left extend!"

It passed from rank to rank.

Line after line with never a bend,

And a touch of the London swank.

A trifle of swank and dash,

Cool as a home parade,

Twinkle and glitter and flash,

Flinching never a shade,

With the shrapnel right in their face

Doing their Hyde Park stunt,

Keeping their swing at an easy pace,

Arms at the trail, eyes front!

Man, it was great to see!

Man, it was fine to do!

It's a cot and a hospital ward for me,

But I'll tell 'em in Blighty, wherever I be,

How the Guards came through. Arthur Conan Doyle