But I've Grown Thoughtful Now. And You

I Didn't Want To Die - Not Before I'd Finished Reading The Return Of The Native Anyhow.

And When The War Is Done And Youth Stone Dead, I'd Toddle Safely Home And Die--in Bed.

You Smug-faced Crowds With Kindling Eye Who Cheer When Soldier Lads March By, Sneak Home And Pray You'll Never Know The Hell Where Youth And Laughter Go.

And There'd Be No More Jokes In Music-halls To Mock The Riddled Corpses Round Bapaume.

October's Bellowing Anger Breakes And Cleavesthe Bronzed Battalions Of The Stricken Woodin Whose Lament I Hear A Voice That Grievesfor Battle's Fruitless Harvest, And The Feudof Outrage Men. Their Lives Are Like The Leavesscattered In Flocks Of Ruin, Tossed And Blownalong The Westering Furnace Flaring Red.o Martyred Youth And Manhood Overthrown,the Burden Of Your Wrongs Is On My Head.