Then Pa, he stops the battle, and We put things in their place; We know when we have fought enough, By the look on Mother’s face. But I’d just as soon be shell-shocked some, To know what father knows; I’d just as soon stay out at night-- In France--and wet my clothes, For I’d like to see a battle fierce, With star shells up at night, With regiments upon the move, And guns at “action right.” With cunning ammunition mules A-trotting to and fro, And personal friends a-shouting in The dark, “Let’s Go.” I think that Father’s quite correct Describing things to me, And all that war in rainy France That lies across the sea; For Father feels that every girl Should have some nerve and tone, And know just how to manage in A battle all her own. MID-DAY AT TRINITY The pigeons perch on Trinity, From cowls of saints they croon; In pious patience preen their wings Till Trinity strikes noon. They make their vows to visions fair, The maids with mid-day smiles; They wait their own communion sweet-- The crumbs along the aisles. And presently from Wall Street strolls A princess past a gate; She pries apart a paper box As if she scarce could wait. She sinks upon an old settee, Her luncheon in her lap; And other maidens follow her-- A score or more, mayhap. The pigeons peer from pinnacles, They see their tables spread; The sugar and the spices strewn, The crusts of creamy bread. The saints upon the walls maintain Their attitudes benign; But conquered by confusing quests, The doves drift down to dine. CASTLE “BILL” Down on Gov’nors Island, Ivy etched and chill, Hollow as a halo, There is Castle “Bill.” Once the pride of outfits-- Prisoners under guard, Form for evening roll-call In the castle yard. Sentries with their side arms, Counting, one by one, While the twilight tarries For the sunset gun. Miles away the music Soundeth at parade Chanting of Cochita, Filipino maid; Chanting of Cochita Of Corregidor; Piping of the palm trees ’Long Lunetta shore. Dusty gunners listen, Lead and chain and wheel; Long ago Manila Held them all to heel; Boys from all battalions, Saberless and still, Waiting on a sunset-- Down in Castle “Bill.” CASTLE WILLIAM Where Buttermilk Channel doth seek to beguile Diffident margins of Governor’s Isle, There is a fortress all bastioned and chill, Known to the army as old “Castle Bill.” There are occasions when soldiers may smile; Not in that castle on Governor’s Isle; Not in the cloisters where sentries abound; Not where a gun butt leaps up from the ground. Oh! There are many--the old cannoneers, Infantry sergeants and grave grenadiers; They have gone onward to zones of desire, Scorning all theories of musketry fire;