Page:Flower of youth, poems in war time, Tynan, 1915.djvu/17

Rh The danger's in his blood like wine,

The old heroic passion leaps;

The son of the mighty fighting line

Goes glad whatever woman weeps.

He plays the game, winning or losing,

As in the playing-fields at home;

This picnic's nothing of his choosing,

But since it's started, let it come!

He lives his hour with keenest zest,

And midst the flying death he spares

A laugh to the light-heart schoolboy jest,

Mingled with curses and with prayers.

Gay as at Eton or at Harrow,

Counts battles as by goals and runs:

God keep him from Death's flying arrow

To give his England fighting sons.