One moment you'll be crouching at your gun Traversing, mowing heaps down half in fun: The next, you choke and clutch at your right breast-- No time to think--leave all--and off you go ... To Treasure Island where the Spice winds blow, To lovely groves of mango, quince and lime-- Breathe no good-bye, but ho, for the Red West! It's a queer time. You're charging madly at them yelling "Fag!" When somehow something gives and your feet drag. You fall and strike your head; yet feel no pain And find ... you're digging tunnels through the hay In the Big Barn, 'cause it's a rainy day. Oh, springy hay, and lovely beams to climb! You're back in the old sailor suit again. It's a queer time. Or you'll be dozing safe in your dug-out-- A great roar--the trench shakes and falls about-- You're struggling, gasping, struggling, then ... _hullo_! Elsie comes tripping gaily down the trench, Hanky to nose--that lyddite makes a stench-- Getting her pinafore all over grime. Funny! because she died ten years ago! It's a queer time. The trouble is, things happen much too quick; Up jump the Boches, rifles thump and click, You stagger, and the whole scene fades away: Even good Christians don't like passing straight From Tipperary or their Hymn of Hate To Alleluiah-chanting, and the chime Of golden harps ... and ... I'm not well to-day ... It's a queer time. A PINCH OF SALT When a dream is born in you With a sudden clamorous pain, When you know the dream is true And lovely, with no flaw nor stain, O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch You'll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much. Dreams are like a bird that mocks, Flirting the feathers of his tail. When you seize at the salt-box, Over the hedge you'll see him sail. Old birds are neither caught with salt nor chaff: They watch you from the apple bough and laugh. Poet, never chase the dream. Laugh yourself, and turn away. Mask your hunger; let it seem Small matter if he come or stay; But when he nestles in your hand at last, Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast. I WONDER WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE DROWNED? 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.... _I wonder what it feels like to be drowned?_ 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.... _I wonder what it feels like to be drowned?_