*BA1a *D1916 * Over the Brazier *X4 *N1 *L1 *Mt THE POET IN THE NURSERY *M *L1 ²The youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling² ²In a dim library, just behind the chair² ²From which the ancient poet was mum-mumbling² ²A song about some Lovers at a Fair,² ²Pulling his long white beard and gently grumbling² ²That rhymes were beastly things and never there.² ²And as I groped, the whole time I was thinking² ²About the tragic poem I'd been writing -- ² ²An old man's life of beer and whiskey drinking,² ²His years of kidnapping and wicked fighting;² ²And how at last, into a fever sinking,² ²Remorsefully he died, his bedclothes biting.² ²But suddenly I saw the bright green cover² ²Of a thin pretty book right down below;² ²I snatched it up and turned the pages over,² ²To find it full of poetry, and so² ²Put it down my neck with quick hands like a lover² ²And turned to watch if the old man saw it go.² ²The book was full of funny muddling mazes² ²Each rounded off into a lovely song,² ²And most extraordinary and monstrous phrases² ²Knotted with rhymes like a slave-driver's thong,² ²And metre twisting like a chain of daisies² ²With great big splendid words a sentence long.² ²I took the book to bed with me and gloated,² ²Learning the lines that seemed to sound most grand,² ²So soon the pretty emerald green was coated² ²With jam and greasy marks from my hot hand,² ²While round the nursery for long months there floated² ²Wonderful words no one could understand.² *X5 *N2 *L1 *Mt STAR-TALK *M *L1 "Are you awake, Gemelli, This frosty night?" "We'll be awake till reveille<, Which is Sunrise," say the Gemelli, "It's no good trying to go to sleep: If there's wine to be got we'll drink it deep, But rest is hopeless to-night, But rest is hopeless to-night." "Are you cold too, poor Pleiads, This frosty night?" "Yes, and so are the Hyads: See us cuddle and hug," say the Pleiads, "All six in a ring: it keeps us warm: We huddle together like birds in a storm: It's bitter weather to-night, It's bitter weather to-night." "What do you hunt, Orion, This starry night?" "The Ram, the Bull and the Lion, And the Great Bear," says Orion, "With my starry quiver and beautiful belt I am trying to find a good thick pelt To warm my shoulders to-night, To warm my shoulders to-night." "Did you hear that, Great She-bear, This frosty night?" "Yes, he's talking of stripping ²me² bare Of my own big fur," says the She-bear, I'm afraid of the man and his terrible arrow: The thought of it chills my bones to the marrow, And the frost so cruel to-night] And the frost so cruel to-night]" "How is your trade, Aquarius, This frosty night?" "Complaints is many and various And my feet are cold," says Aquarius, "There's Venus objects to Dolphin-scales, And Mars to Crab-spawn found in my pails, And the pump has frozen to-night, And the pump has frozen to-night." *X7 *N3 *L1 *Mt THE DYING KNIGHT AND THE FAUNS *M *L1 Through the dreams of yesternight My blood brother great in fight I saw lying, slowly dying Where the weary woods were sighing With the rustle of the birches, With the quiver of the larches ... Woodland fauns with hairy haunches Grin in wonder through the branches Woodland fauns that know no fear. Wondering, they wander near Munching mushrooms red as coral, Bunches, too, of rue and sorrel; Wonder at his radiant fairness, At his dinted, shattered harness, With uncouth and bestial sounds, Knowing nought of war or wounds: But the crimson life-blood oozes And makes roses of the daises, Purple carpets of the mosses -- Softly now his spirit passes As the bee forsakes the lily, As the berry leaves the holly; But the fauns still think him living, And with bay leaves they are weaving Crowns to deck him. Well they may] He was worthy of the Bay. *X8 *N4 *L1 *Mt WILLAREE *M *L1 On the rough mountain wind That blows so free Rides a little storm-sprite Whose name is Willaree. The fleecy cloudlets are not his, No shepherd is he, For he drives the shaggy thunderclouds Over land and sea. His home is on the mountain-top Where I love to be, Amid grey rocks and brambles And the red rowan-tree. He whistles down the chimney, He whistles to me, And I send greeting back to him Whistling cheerily. The great elms are battling, Waves are on the sea, Loud roars the mountain-wind -- God rest you, Willaree] *X9 *N5 *L1 *Mt THE FACE OF THE HEAVENS *M *L1 Little winds in a hurry, Great winds over the sky, Clouds sleek or furry, Storms that rage and die, The whole cycle of weather From calm to hurricane Of four gales wroth together, Thunder, lightning, rain, The burning sun, snowing, Hailstones pattering down, Blue skies and red skies showing, Skies with a black frown, By these signs and wonders You may tell God's mood: He shines, rains, thunders, But all his works are good. *X10 *N6 *L1 *Mt JOLLY YELLOW MOON *M *L1 Oh, now has faded from the West A sunset red as wine, And beast and bird are hushed to rest When the jolly yellow moon doth shine. Come comrades, roam we round the mead Where couch the sleeping kine; The breath of night blows soft indeed, And the jolly yellow moon doth shine. And step we slowly, friend with friend, Let arm with arm entwine, And voice with voice together blend, For the jolly yellow moon doth shine. Whether we loudly sing or soft, The tune goes wondrous fine; Our chorus sure will float aloft Where the jolly yellow moon doth shine. *X11 *N7 *L1 *Mt YOUTH AND FOLLY *M *L1 In Chapel often when I bawl The hymns, to show I'm musical, With bright eye and cheery voice Bidding Christian folk rejoice, Shame be it said, I've not a thought Of the One Being whom I ought To worship: with unwitting roar Other godheads I adore. I celebrate the Gods of Mirth And Love and Youth and Springing Earth, Bacchus, beautiful, divine, Gulping down his heady wine, Dear Pan piping in his hollow, Fiery-headed King Apollo And rugged Atlas all aloof Holding up the purple roof. I have often felt and sung, "It's a good thing to be young: Though the preacher says it's folly, Is it foolish to be jolly?" I have often prayed in fear, "Let me never grow austere; Let me never think, I pray, Too much about Judgement Day; Never, never feel in Spring, ""Life's a very awful thing]"" " Then I realize and start And curse my arrogant young heart, Bind it over to confess Its horrible ungodliness, Set myself penances, and sigh That I was born in sin, and try To find the whole world vanity. *X12 *N8 *L1 *Mt GHOST MUSIC *M *L1 Gloomy and bare the organ-loft, Bent-backed and blind the organist. From rafters looming shadowy, From the pipe's tuneful company, Drifted together drowsily, Innumerable, formless, dim, The ghosts of long-dead melodies, Of anthems, stately, thunderous, Of Kyries shrill and tremulous: In melancholy drowsy-sweet They huddled there in harmony, Like bats at noontide rafter-hung. *X *N9 *L1 *Mt FREE VERSE *M *L1 I now delight, In spite Of the might And the right Of classic tradition, In writing And reciting Straight ahead, Without let or omission, Just any little rhyme In any little time That runs in my head: Because, I've said, My rhymes no longer shall stand arrayed Like Prussian soldiers on parade That march, Stiff as starch, Foot to foot, Boot to boot, Blade to blade, Button to button, Cheeks and chops and chins like mutton. No] No] My rhymes must go Turn 'ee, twist 'ee, Twinkling, frosty, Will-o'-the-wisp-like, misty, Rhymes I will make Like Keats and Blake And Christina Rossetti, With run and ripple and shake. How petty To take A merry little rhyme In a jolly little time And poke it, And choke it, Change it, arrange it, Straight-lace it, deface it, Pleat it with pleats, Sheet it with sheets Of empty meaningless conceits, And chop and chew, And hack and hew, And weld it into a uniform stanza, And evolve a neat, Complacent, complete, Academic extravaganza] *X15 *N10 *L1 *Mt IN THE WILDERNESS *M *L1 Christ of his gentleness Thirsting and hungering Walked in the wilderness; Soft words of grace He spoke Unto lost desert-folk That listened wondering. He heard the bitterns call From ruined palace-wall, Answered them brotherly. He held communion With the she-pelican Of lonely piety. Basilisk, cockatrice, Flocked to His homilies, With mail of dread device, With monstrous barbes-la-guerre." Well, when it's over, first we'll meet At Gweithdy Bach, my country seat In Wales, a curious little shop With two rooms and a roof on top, A sort of Morlancourt-ish billet That never needs a crowd to fill it. But oh, the country round about] The sort of view that makes you shout For want of any better way Of praising God: there's a blue bay Shining in front, and on the right Snowden and Hebog capped with white, And lots of other jolly peaks That you could wander at for weeks, With jag and spur and hump and cleft. There's a grey castle on the left, And back in the high hinterland You'll see the grave of Shawn Knarlbrand Who slew the savage Buffaloon By the Nant-col one night in June, And won his surname from the horn Of this prodigious unicorn. Beyond, where the two Rhinogs tower, Rhinog Fach and Rhinog Fawr, Close there after a four years' chase From Thessaly and the woods of Thrace, The beaten Dog-cat stood at bay And growled and fought and passed away. You'll see where mountain conies grapple With prayer and creed in their rock chapel Which Ben and Claire once built for them; They call it So^ar Bethlehem. You'll see where in old Roman days, Before Revivals changed our ways, The Virgin 'scaped the Devil's grab, Printing her foot on a stone slab With five clear toe-marks; and you'll find The fiendish thumbprint close behind. You'll see where Math, Mathonwy's son, *X31 Spoke with the wizard Gwydion And bad him for South Wales set out To steal that creature with the snout, That new-discovered grunting beast Divinely flavoured for the feast. No traveller yet has hit upon A wilder land than Meirion, For desolate hills and tumbling stones, Bogland and melody and old bones. Fairies and ghosts are here galore, And poetry most splendid, more Than can be written with the pen Or understood by commen men. In Gweithdy Bach we'll rest awhile, We'll dress our wounds and learn to smile With easier lips; we'll stretch our legs, And live on bilberry tart and eggs, And store up solar energy, Basking in sunshine by the sea, Until we feel a match once more For ²anything² but another war. So then we'll kiss our families, And sail away across the seas (The God of Song protecting us) To the great hills of Caucasus. Robert will learn the local ²bat² For billeting and things like that, If Siegfried learns the piccolo To charm the people as we go. *X32 The jolly peasants clad in furs Will greet the Welch-ski officers With open arms, and ere we pass Will make us vocal with Kavasse. In old Bagdad we'll call a halt At the Saµshuns' ancestral vault; We'll catch the Persian rose-flowers' scent, And understand what Omar meant. Bitlis and Mush will know our faces, Tiflis and Tomsk, and all such places. Perhaps eventually we'll get Among the Tartars of Thibet, Hobnobbing with the Chungs and Mings, And doing wild, tremendous things In free adventure, quest and fight, And God] what poetry we'll write] *X34 *N51 *L1 *Mt FAUN *M *L1 Here down this very way, Here only yesterday King Faun went leaping. He sang, with a careless shout Hurling his name about; He sang, with oaken stock His steps from rock to rock In safety keeping, "Here Faun is free, Here Faun is free]"" To-day against yon pine, Forlorn yet still divine, King Faun leant weeping. "They drank my holy brook My strawberries they took, My private path they trod." Loud wept the desolate God, Scorn on scorn heaping, "Faun, what is he, Faun, what is he?" *X35 *N52 *L1 *Mt THE SPOILSPORT *M *L1 My familiar ghost again Comes to see what he can see, Critic, son of Conscious Brain, Spying on our privacy. Slam the window, bolt the door, Yet he'll enter in and stay; In to-morrow's book he'll score Indiscretions of to-day. Whispered love and muttered fears, How their echoes fly about] None escape his watchful ears, Every sigh might be a shout. No kind words nor angry cries Turn away this grim spoilsport; No fine lady's pleading eyes, Neither love, nor hate, nor ... port. *X36 Critic wears no smile of fun, Speaks no word of blame nor praise, Counts our kisses one by one, Notes each gesture, every phrase. My familiar ghost again Stands or squats where suits him best; Critic, son of Conscious Brain, Listens, watches, takes no rest. *X37 *N53 *L1 *Mt THE SHIVERING BEGGAR *M *L1 NEAR Clapham village, where fields began, Saint Edward met a begger man. It was Christmas morning, the church bells tolled, The old man trembled for the fierce cold. Saint Edward cried,"It is monstrous sin A beggar to lie in rags so thin] An old grey-beard and the frost so keen: I shall give him my fur-lined gaberdine." He stripped off his gaberdine of scarlet And wrapped it round the aged varlet, Who clutched at the folds with a muttered curse, Quaking and chattering seven times worse. Said Edward,"Sir, it would seem you freeze Most bitter at your extremities. Here are gloves and shoes and stockings also, That warm upon your way you may go." *X38 The man took stocking and shoe and glove, Blaspheming Christ our Saviour's love, Yet seemed to find but little relief, Shaking and quivering like a leaf. Said the saint again, "I have no great riches, Yet take this tunic, take these breeches, My shirt and my vest, take everything, And give due thanks to Jesus the King." The saint stood naked upon the snow Long miles from where he was lodged at Bowe, Praying, "O God] my faith, it grows faint] This would try the temper of any saint. "Make clean my heart, Almighty, I pray, And drive these sinful thoughts away. Make clean my heart if it be Thy will, This damned old rascal's shivering still]" He stooped, he touched the beggar man's shoulder; He asked him did the frost nip colder? "Frost]" said the beggar, "no, stupid lad] 'Tis the palsy makes me shiver so bad." *X39 *N54 *L1 *Mt JONAH *M *L1 A PURPLE whale Proudly sweeps his tail Towards Nineveh; Glassy green Surges between A mile of roaring sea. "O town of gold, Of splendour multifold, Lucre and lust, Leviathan's eye Can surely spy Thy doom of death and dust. On curving sands Vengeful Jonah stands. "Yet forty days, *X40 Then down, down, Tumbles the town In flaming ruin ablaze." With swift lament Those Ninevites repent. They cry in tears, "Our hearts fail] The whale, the whale] Our sins prick us like spears." Jonah is vexed; He cries, "What next? what next?" And shakes his fist. "Stupid city, The shame, the pity, The glorious crash I've missed." Away goes Jonah grumbling, Murmuring and mumbling; Off ploughs the purple whale, With disappointed tail. *X41 *N55 *L1 *Mt JOHN SKELTON *M *L1 What could be dafter Than John Skelton's laughter? What sound more tenderly Than his pretty poetry? So where to rank old Skelton? He was no monstrous Milton, Nor wrote no "Paradise Lost," So wondered at by most, Phrased so disdainfully, Composed so painfully. He struck what Milton missed, Milling an English grist With homely turn and twist. He was English through and through, Not Greek, nor French, nor Jew, Though well their tongues he knew, The living and the dead: Learned Erasmus said, *X42 ²Hic, unum Britannicarum² ²Lumen et decus literarum². But oh, Colin Clout] How his pen flies about, Twiddling and turning, Scorching and burning, Thrusting and thrumming] How it hurries with humming, Leaping and running, At the tipsy-topsy Tunning Of Mistress Eleanor Rumming] How for poor Philip Sparrow Was murdered at Carow, How our hearts he does harrow] Jest and grief mingle In this jangle-jingle, For he will not stop To sweep nor mop, To prune nor prop, To cut each phrase up Like beef when we sup, Nor sip at each line As at brandy-wine, Or port when we dine. But angrily, wittily, Tenderly, prettily, Laughingly, learnedly, Sadly, madly, Helter-skelter John Rhymes serenely on, As English poets should. Old John, you do me good] *X44 *N56 *L1 *Mt I WONDER WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE DROWNED? *M *L1 Look at my knees, That island rising from the steamy seas] The candle's a tall lightship; my two hands Are boats and barges anchored to the sands, With mighty cliffs all round; They're full of wine and riches from far lands.... ²I wonder what it feels like to be drowned?² I can make caves, By lifting up the island and huge waves And storms, and then with head and ears well under Blow bubbles with a monstrous roar like thunder, A bull-of-Bashan sound. The seas run high and the boats split asunder.... ²I wonder what it feels like to be drowned?² *X45 The thin soap slips And slithers like a shark under the ships. My toes are on the soap-dish -- that's the effect Of my huge storms; an iron steamer's wrecked. The soap slides round and round; He's biting the old sailors, I expect.... ²I wonder what it feels like to be drowned?² *X46 *N57 *L1 *Mt DOUBLE RED DAISIES *M *L1 DOUBLE red daisies, they're my flowers, Which nobody else may grow. In a big quarrelsome house like ours They try it sometimes -- but no, I root them up because they're my flowers, Which nobody else may grow. ²Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn't plant it;² ²Ben has an iris, but I don't want it.² ²Daises, double red daisies for me,² ²The beautifulest flowers in the garden.² Double red daisy, that's my mark: I paint it in all my books] It's carved high up on the beech-tree bark, How neat and lovely it looks] So don't forget that it's my trade mark; Don't copy it in your books. *X47 ²Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn't plant it;² ²Ben has an iris, but I don't want it.² ²Daises, double red daises for me,² ²The beautifulest flowers in the garden.² *X50 *N58 *L1 *Mt I'D LOVE TO BE A FAIRY'S CHILD *M *L1 CHILDREN born of fairy stock Never need for shirt or frock, Never want for food or fire, Always get their heart's desire: Jingle pockets full of gold, Marry when they're seven years old. Every fairy child may keep Two strong ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild -- I'd love to be a fairy's child. *X51 *N59 *L1 *Mt THE NEXT WAR *M *L1 YOU young friskies who to-day Jump and fight in Father's hay With bows and arrows and wooden spears, Playing at Royal Welch Fusiliers, Happy though these hours you spend, Have they warned you how games end? Boys, from the first time you prod And thrust with spears of curtain-rod, From the first time you tear and slash Your long-bows from the garden ash, Or fit your shaft with a blue jay feather, Binding the split tops together, From that same hour by fate you're bound As champions of this stony ground, Loyal and true in everything, To serve your Army and your King, Prepared to starve and sweat and die Under some fierce foreign sky, If only to keep safe those joys *X52 That belong to British boys, To keep young Prussians from the soft Scented hay of father's loft, And stop young Slavs from cutting bows And bendy spears from Welsh hedgerows. Another War soon gets begun, A dirtier, a more glorious one; Then, boys, you'll have to play, all in; It's the cruellest team will win. So hold your nose against the stink And never stop too long to think. Wars don't change except in name; The next one must go just the same, And new foul tricks unguessed before Will win and justify this War. Kaisers and Czars will strut the stage Once more with pomp and greed and rage; Courtly ministers will stop At home and fight to the last drop; By the million men will die In some new horrible agony; And children here will thrust and poke, Shoot and die, and laugh at the joke, With bows and arrows and wooden spears, Playing at Royal Welch Fusiliers. *X53 *N60 *L1 *Mt STRONN BEER *M *L1 "WHAT do you think The bravest drink Under the sky?" "Strong beer," said I. "There's a place for everything, Everything, anything, There's a place for everything Where it ought to be: For a chicken, the hen's wing; For poison, the bee's sting; For almond-blossom, Spring; A beerhouse for me." "There's a prize for everyone, Everyone, anyone, There's a prize for everyone, Whoever he may be: Crags for the mountaineer, *X54 Flags for the Fusilier, For English poets, beer] Strong beer for me]" "Tell us, now, how and when We may find the bravest men?" "A sure test, an easy test: Those that drink beer are the best, Brown beer strongly brewed, English drink and English food." Oh, never choose as Gideon chose By the cold well, but rather those Who look on beer when it is brown, Smack their lips and gulp it down. Leave the lads who tamely drink With Gideon by the water brink, But search the benches of the Plough, The Tun, the Sun, the Spotted Cow, For jolly rascal lads who pray, Pewter in hand, at close of day, "Teach me to live that I may fear The grave as little as my beer." *X55 *N61 *L1 *Mt MARIGOLDS *M *L1 With a fork drive Nature out, She will ever yet return; Hedge the flower-bed all about, Pull or stab or cut or burn, She will ever yet return. Look: the constant marigold Springs again from hidden roots. Baffled gardener, you behold New beginnings and new shoots Spring again from hidden roots. Pull or stab or cut or burn, They will ever yet return. Gardener, cursing at the weed, Ere you curse it further, say: Who but you planted the seed In my fertile heart, one day? Ere you curse me further, say] New beginnings and new shoots Spring again from hidden roots. Pull or stab or cut or burn, Love must ever yet return. *X57 *N62 *L1 *Mt LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC *M *L1 To the woods, to the woods is the wizard gone; In his grotto the maiden sits alone. She gazes up with a weary smile At the rafter-hanging crocodile, The slowly swinging crocodile. Scorn has she of her master's gear, Cauldron, alembic, crystal sphere, Phila, philtre -- "Fiddlededee For all such trumpery trash]" quo' she. "A soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad] "Oh, here have I ever lain forlorn: My father died ere I was born, Mother was by a wizard wed, And oft I wish I had died instead -- Often I wish I were long time dead. But, delving deep in my master's lore, I have won of magic power such store *X58 I can turn a skull -- oh, fiddlededee For all this curious craft]" quo' she. "A soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad] "To bring my brave boy unto my arms, What need have I of magic charms -- ""Abracadabra]"" and ""Prestopuff""? I have but to wish, and that is enough. The charms are vain, one wish is enough. My master pledged my hand to a wizard; Transformed would I be to toad or lizard If e'er he guessed -- but fiddlededee For a black-browed sorcerer, now," quo' she. "Let Cupid smile and the fiend must flee; Hey and hither, my lad." *X59 *N63 *L1 *Mt SMOKE-RINGS *Mm *L1 Boy. *M *L1 MOST venerable and learned sir, Tall and true Philosopher, These rings of smoke you blow all day With such deep thought, what sense have they? *Mm PHILOSOPHER. *M *L+0 Small friend, with prayer and meditation I make an image of Creation. And if your mind is working nimble Straightway you'll recognize a symbol Of the endless and eternal ring Of God, who girdles everything -- God, who in His own form and plan Moulds the fugitive life of man. These vaporous toys you watch me make, That shoot ahead, pause, turn and break -- *X60 Some glide far out like sailing ships, Some weak ones fail me at my lips. He who ringed His awe in smoke, When He led forth His captive folk, In like manner, East, West, North, and South, Blows us ring-wise from His mouth. *X61 *N64 *L1 *Mt A CHILD'S NIGHTMARE *M *L1 THROUGH long nursery nights he stood By my bed unwearying, Loomed gigantic, formless, queer, Purring in my haunted ear That same hideous nightmare thing, Talking, as he lapped my blood, In a voice cruel and flat, Saying for ever, "Cat]...Cat]...Cat]..." That one word was all he said, That one word through all my sleep, In monotonous mock despair. Nonsense may be light as air, But there's Nonsense that can keep Horror bristling round the head, When a voice cruel and flat Says for ever, "Cat]...Cat]...Cat]..." He had faded, he was gone Years ago with Nursery Land, *X62 When he leapt on me again From the clank of a night train, Overpowered me foot and head, Lapped my blood, while on and on The old voice cruel and flat Purred for ever, "Cat]...Cat]...Cat]... Morphia drowsed, again I lay In a crater by High Wood: He was there with straddling legs, Staring eyes as big as eggs, Purring as he lapped my blood, His black bulk darkening the day, With a voice cruel and flat, "Cat]...Cat]...Cat]..." he said, "Cat]...Cat]..." When I'm shot through heart and head, And there's no choice but to die, The last word I'll hear, no doubt, Won't be "Charge]" or "Bomb them out]" Nor the stretcher-bearer's cry, "Let that body be, he's dead]" But a voice cruel and flat Saying for ever, "Cat]...Cat]...Cat]" *X68 *N65 *L1 *Mt A BOY IN CHURCH *M *L1 "GABBLE-GABBLE,...brethren,...gabble-gabble]" My window frames forest and heather. I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whether The text is praise or exhortation, Prayer or thanksgiving, or damnation. Outside it blows wetter and wetter, The tossing trees never stay still. I shift my elbows to catch better The full round sweep of heathered hill. The tortured copse bends to and fro In silence like a shadow-show. The parson's voice runs like a river Over smooth rocks. I like this church: The pews are staid, they never shiver, They never bend or sway or lurch. "Prayer," says the kind voice,"is a chain That draws down Grace from Heaven again." *X69 I add the hymns up, over and over, Until there's not the least mistake. Seven-seventy-one. (Look] there's a plover] It's gone]) Who's that Saint by the lake? The red light from his mantle passes Across the broad memorial brasses. It's pleasant here for dreams and thinking, Lolling and letting reason nod, With ugly serious people linking Sad prayers to a forgiving God.... But a dumb blast sets the trees swaying With furious zeal like madmen praying. *X70 *N66 *L1 *Mt CORPORAL STARE *M *L1 Back from the line one night in June, I gave a dinner at Bethune -- Seven courses, the most gorgeous meal Money could buy or batman steal. Five hungry lads welcomed the fish With shouts that nearly cracked the dish; Asparagus came with tender tops, Strawberries in cream, and mutton chops. Said Jenkins, as my hand he shook, "They'll put this in the history book." We bawled Church anthems ²in choro² Of Bethlehem and Hermon snow, With drinking songs, a jolly sound To help the good red Pommard round. Stories and laughter interspersed, We drowned a long La Basse