Oft have I begged the high gods for a boon,
That they would bear me from the Flanders slosh
Back to a desert _not_ made by the Bosch,
The sunny Egypt that I left too soon.
O silvery nights beneath an Eastern moon!
O shirt-sleeved days! O small infrequent wash!
O once again to see the nigger "nosh"
The camel, rudely grunting (out of tune)!
Loudly I called; the high gods hearkened not
Till came the signal and the big guns ceased;
But then they brought me to this sea-kissed spot,
Heeded my prayer and gave me back at least
One of the pleasures that of old I knew,
For here once more there's sand within the stew.
* * * * *
[Illustration: GIVING HIM ROPE?
GERMAN CRIMINAL (_to Allied Police_). "HERE, I SAY, STOP! YOU'RE
HURTING ME! [_Aside_] IF I ONLY WHINE ENOUGH I MAY BE ABLE TO WRIGGLE
OUT OF THIS YET."]
* * * * *