FAIRIES AND FUSILIERS BY ROBERT GRAVES 1918 TO THE ROYAL WELCH FUSILIERS _I have to thank Mr. Harold Monro, of The Poetry Book Shop, for permission to include in this volume certain poems of which he possesses the copyright; also the editor of the "Nation" for a similar courtesy._ R.G. CONTENTS TO AN UNGENTLE CRITIC AN OLD TWENTY-THIRD MAN TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WAR--FOR THE FOURTH TIME TWO FUSILIERS TO ROBERT NICHOLS DEAD COW FARM GOLIATH AND DAVID BABYLON MR. PHILOSOPHER THE CRUEL MOON FINLAND A PINCH OF SALT THE CATERPILLAR SORLEY'S WEATHER THE COTTAGE THE LAST POST WHEN I'M KILLED LETTER TO S.S. FROM MAMETZ WOOD A DEAD BOCHE FAUN THE SPOILSPORT THE SHIVERING BEGGAR JONAH JOHN SKELTON I WONDER WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE DROWNED? DOUBLE RED DAISIES CAREERS I'D LOVE TO BE A FAIRY'S CHILD THE NEXT WAR STRONG BEER MARIGOLDS THE LADY VISITOR IN THE PAUPER WARD LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC SMOKE-RINGS A CHILD'S NIGHTMARE ESCAPE THE BOUGH OF NONSENSE NOT DEAD A BOY IN CHURCH CORPORAL STARE THE ASSAULT HEROIC THE POET IN THE NURSERY IN THE WILDERNESS CHERRY-TIME 1915 FREE VERSE TO AN UNGENTLE CRITIC _The great sun sinks behind the town Through a red mist of Volnay wine...._ But what's the use of setting down That glorious blaze behind the town? You'll only skip the page, you'll look For newer pictures in this book; You've read of sunsets rich as mine. _A fresh wind fills the evening air With horrid crying of night birds...._ But what reads new or curious there When cold winds fly across the air? You'll only frown; you'll turn the page, But find no glimpse of your "New Age Of Poetry" in my worn-out words. Must winds that cut like blades of steel And sunsets swimming in Volnay, The holiest, cruellest pains I feel, Die stillborn, because old men squeal For something new: "Write something new: We've read this poem--that one too, And twelve more like 'em yesterday"? No, no! my chicken, I shall scrawl Just what I fancy as I strike it, Fairies and Fusiliers, and all Old broken knock-kneed thought will crawl Across my verse in the classic way. And, sir, be careful what you say; There are old-fashioned folk still like it. AN OLD TWENTY-THIRD MAN