_A Missive from the Front._
Ere the first grey dawn has banished
Restless night and her alarms,
When the sleeper's snores have vanished
On the order "Stand to arms!"
When the sky is bleak and dreary
And the rain is chill and thin,
Be I ne'er so damp and weary,
Yet my thoughts on You I pin.
When the bullets fly unheeded
O'er the meagre parapet,
As I pace my ditch impeded
By the squelching mud and wet;
When I eat my Army ration
With my fingers caked in clay--
You can stake your total cash on
Me remembering You this day.
Though the glittering knight whose charger
Bore him on his lady's quest
With an infinitely larger
Share of warfare's pomp was blest,
Yet he offered love no higher,
No more difficult to quench,
Than this filthy occupier
Of an unromantic trench.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Recruit_ (_who had given his age as 33 on enlistment_).
"DID YOU 'EAR THAT? TOLD ME MY BRIDLE WASN'T PUT ON RIGHT! BLESS
'IS BLOOMIN' INNOCENCE! AND ME BIN IN A RACIN' STABLE FOR THE LAST
FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEAR!"]
* * * * *