The enemy’s reported, And he’d like to see the show, But he handles ammunition So he’s got to go below. And he’s ready on his station, Every nerve alert and keen, With a group of grim-faced sailors In a lower magazine. They can feel the ship’s vibrations When the broadside salvos go, And the shatter of the turrets When they batter at the foe. “Send ’em up and keep ’em coming! Man the phones and man the hoist!” Sweat and curse and pass the powder Till the very deck is moist. But the enemy is daring, And his planes get through the screen, A torpedo rips the blister Just above the magazine. Water fills the whole compartment, In another fires rage, But the guns still get their powder And the enemy engage. Trapped below, the lads are living, And the hungry hoist they feed, Though the first concussion stunned them And their deafened ears must bleed. Other hits, the foeman scoring, Thunderous roars of flaming sheen, “Save the ship from an explosion, Flood the lower magazine!” Lads, farewell! The air was dirty With a lot of fume and smoke, It’s as bad, lads, when you smother As on briny water choke. But the enemy’s defeated, Thanks to you who’ll never know, You who handled ammunition And who had to go below! _THE ROAD TO HIGH WOOD_ It was on the road to High Wood That we found him lying dead, The soldier boy in khaki With the broken, battered head. No more at dawn or sunset Will he hear the bugle note, Nor thrill to taps ascending From a trumpet’s silver throat. It was on the road to High Wood Where the maple leaves were burned That the lad went out at morning And nevermore returned. There are many roads to High Wood, There are many roads to Hell, And the fields of wheat are rotten Where a thousand heroes fell. _NIGHT WATCH_ His ship is on the ocean But the sailor lad’s ashore, And deeply, deeply sleeping, He’ll waken nevermore. We buried him atop the hill That overlooks the bay, And one there was who walked from there With slower steps away. And one there is on watch at night Who wears the strangest smile, Because he sees a specter lad And talks with him awhile. Across the world he comes to me, And far horizons dim, And I await the day when I, Instead, shall go to him. Then we will sail on all the seas That poets can recite, And stand beside another lad, And watch with him at night. _THE SOLDIER AND THE SAMOVAR_ They shot him as he left the house And stripped him in the snow But still he held the samovar And would not let it go. Who knows from what fine home he came With afternoons at tea? If I had been that lonely lad, They would have shot at me.