After all, somebody's got to be ready,
And tons of the blighters 'll get their ticket.
Wars don't cease."
"Young soldier, what will you be
At the day's end?"
"Tired's what I'll be. I shall lie on the beach
Of a shore where the rippling waves just sigh,
And listen and dream and sleep and lie
Forgetting what I've had to learn and teach
And attack and defend."
"Young soldier, what will you be
When you're next a-bed?"
"God knows what; but it doesn't matter,
For whenever I think, I always remember
The Belgians massacred that September,
And England's pledge—and the rest seems chatter.
What if I am dead?"
"Young soldier, what will you be
When it's all done?"
"I shall come back and live alone
On an English farm in the Sussex Weald,
Where the wounds in my mind will be slowly sealed,
And the graves in my heart will be overgrown;
And I'll sit in the sun."
