Page:Reuben and other poems.pdf/86

 Cushie, old woman, you'll feel a fresh hand, And the dogs ’ll get working they won’t understand. Ay, Roy and Rover, you’ll miss me a bit; Well, I don’t care who misses, so long as I hit!

Last night I was hearing my mother looked sad, And a face at the station’s not overly glad. But when fighting and fun have got hold of a man, Why,—the women must manage the best way they can.

What’s kisses, and comfort? The worth of a pin When there’s wrongs to be righted, and honours to win: When the country is up, and they’re calling from Home, And you’ve long’d all your life for a bit of a roam!

And suppose, one fine evening, the old Cross up there Down at me dead on some kopje should stare— All right! I’ll have met with some reason for breath; Life I'll have tasted before I feed Death.

Here’s the moon, Russet! Not much of a lamp, And a dozen odd miles to pick back into camp. Up! Good-bye, wharé and paddock and all! It’s “Hurrah for New Zealand, and down with Oom Paul!”