But now I know that there is also A world of— Clean sheets and pajamas, And good food And plenty of it, And kind, gentle women In white Who give you cocoa and soup, And doctors who give you more than “C.C.” pills, And peaceful days Without a single shell, And peaceful nights, And officers who wear white collars And have only heard of cooties, And visitors who sit on your bed And murmur “How thrilling,” And street cars and taxis, And buildings without A single shell hole in them, And everything I only dreamed of before. Gosh! but it’s a wonderful war— BACK HERE. HARV. THE OL’ CAMPAIGN HAT No more against a battle sky with swooping pilots lined, No more where charging heroes die my peakéd top you’ll find. In training camps and peaceful climes the war is not for me, Yet still I dream of other times and what I used to be. The Mauser crackles once again—the smoky Springfield roar Avenges those who manned the _Maine_ upon the Cuban shore. Fedora-style I did my bit in jungle sun and dirt, And now I’ve got a mortal hit, just like the old blue shirt! I hear the tingling ’Frisco cheers, the squat “Kilpatrick” sway, As boldly swung we from the piers, Manila months away. Luzon, Panay—I saw them all, Pekin was not the least— O I have felt the siren call that sweeps from out the East. Below the line of Capricorn in divers times and places I’ve heard retreating yowls of scorn from herds of Spiggot races. The Rio Grande and Vera Cruz—I knew them like a map, And now it looks as though I lose—the jackpot to a cap! No more against a blazing sky where hard-pressed Fokkers flee, No more where charging heroes die, my peakéd top you’ll see. The trade mark of the Johnnie’s gone, but, just between us two, I’ll bet you I come back again when this damn war is through! WHEN THE GENERAL CAME TO TOWN We wuz workin’ in th’ offus— That is, all exceptin’ me— An’ I wuz jest a-settin’, As a orderly should be, When a feller wearin’ eagles Perchin’ on his shoulder straps, Poked his head right in th’ winder, An’ he talks right out an’ snaps,