Page:More songs by the fighting men, soldier poets, second series, 1917.djvu/98

More Songs by the Fighting Men For me no more the secret cult

Of "Jampot," "Hairbrush," "Pitcher," "Ball,"

Holds fear; the erratic catapult

Has lost all power to appal.

With many a brother anarchist

By night I prowl from ten till one,

Thirsting to keep a bloody tryst

With some rotund unready Hun.

So runs my life, but when the end

Comes on the wings of shot or shell,

No tears will save, nor loving friend,

For me there waits the bomber's Hell,

Where with the unsubstantial shades

In groves where shells eternal fall

I'll fill Satanic hand-grenades

With fourth-dimension ammonal.

, 1915. 94