Dreamers

Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land,

Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.

In the great hour of destiny they stand,

Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.

Soldiers are sworn to action; they must

Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.

Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns

They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.

I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,

And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,

Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,

And mocked by hopeless longing to

Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,

And going to the office in the train.