Page:Lollingdon Downs and other poems, Masefield, 1917.djvu/43

Rh

Sir, did your riders catch the thief?

No, he got clear and keeps the horse

But bad news always comes with worse.

The frontier's fallen, we're recalled,

Our army's broken, Rome's appalled,

My God, the whole world's in a blaze.

So now, we've done with idle days

Fooling on frontiers. Boot and start.

It gives a strange feel in the heart

To think that this, that Rome has made,

Is done with. Yes, the stock's decayed.

We march at once. You mark my words,

We're done, we're crumbled into sherds,

We shall not see this place again

When once we go.

Do none remain?

No, none, all march. Here ends the play.

March, and burn camp. The order's gone,

Your men have sent your baggage on.