An’ you cannot pant for wars When you’re scrubbin’ barrack floors, Or get inspired on bully-beef an’ biscuit: It requires a poet’s soul When a feller’s cartin’ coal To think ’isself in danger, an’ to risk it. Does a feller care a D— For the friskin’ of a lamb, When ’e ’as to watch the friskin’ thro’ a gratin’? Does the lowin’ of the ’erds, Or the twitterin’ of the birds, Soothe a feller when for punishment ’e’s waitin’? L’ ENVOI In the deepest pits of ’Ell, Where the worst defaulters dwell (Charcoal devils used as fuel as you require ’em), There’s some lovely coloured rays, Pyrotechnical displays: _But you can’t expect the burnin’ to admire ’em!_ *THE COLONEL’S GARDEN* There are gardins, an’ there’s gardins, Some are good, an’ some are not. There are gardins in a glass ’ouse Where the air is allus ’ot. But whether on a winder-ledge, Or in a flower-pot, I’ll back our Colonel’s gardin For to lick the bilin’ lot. There are gardners, _an’_ there’s gardners, Some are great, an’ some are small. Some could change a bloomin’ brickfield To a Covent Gard’n ball! There are some ’oo couldn’t ’ardly Fix a creeper to a wall! But I’ll back our Colonel’s gardner, Jerry Jordan, ’gin ’em all! O the flowers they are lovely! An’ the roses they are fair; An’ the daisies they are winkin’ Thro’ a lash of maiden-’air! An’ the lilies, tall an’ naked— Tho’ it’s little that they care! An’ the garden—under Jerry— Is a place beyond compare! There are flowers bloomin’ early, There are flowers bloomin’ late; There is ’oneysuckle climbin’ On the porchway, by the gate. There’s some cress an’ mustard growin’ On a commissairy plate! O the garden it is lovely— That’s when Jerry’s on the straight! * * * * * O the garden it’s neglected. An’ the pinks ’ave ceased to pink, An’ the petals they are droppin’, An’ the blooms they bend and sink. O the flowers they are fadin’ Now that Jerry’s took to drink! O the flowers they’re neglected— Jerry Jordan’s in the clink! For the flowers will not blossom, An’ they don’t give out no smells, The convul’vus it is weepin’ From its verigated bells. An’ the lily’s in hysterics, An’ she faints away in spells: O there’s weepin’, an’ there’s wailin’— Jerry Jordan’s doin’ cells! * * * * * O the path is rolled an’ gravelled, An’ the gardin’s fresh as rain, An’ the weeds that strewed the borders They no longer there remain. An’ the flowers they are smilin’, For they’re out of all their pain; An’ the bees they ’um for gladness— Jerry Jordan’s out again!