Page:Lollingdon Downs and other poems, Masefield, 1917.djvu/40

34

Their raiders crossed the line last night,

Eastward from this, to raid the stud,

They stole our old chief's stallion, Kite.

He's in pursuit.

That looks like blood.

Well, better that than dicing here

Beside this everlasting stream.

My God, I was in Rome last year,

Under the sun, it seems a dream.

Things are not going well in Rome,

This frontier war is wasting men

Like water, and the Tartars come

In hordes.

We beat them back again.