The Man He Killed
Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place. I shot him dead because— Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was; That's clear enough; although He thought he'd 'list, perhaps, Off-hand like—just as I—Was out of work—had sold his traps— No other reason why. Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow
You'd treat, if met where any bar is, Or help to half a crown.
This should be compared with War Poet Ivor Gurney's ideas on the same theme.
Line
We should have set us down to
Right many a nipperkin!in modern English might
We would have sat down for a drink and drunk many a glass.nipperkin = 1/8 of a
Lines
He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like -- just as I --Was out of work -- had sold his traps --In modern English might
Perhaps he thought of enlisting in a casual manner, just like me, because we were both out of work and had had to sell our tools.traps = the tools or trappings of a particular trade.
Last Stanza in modern English might
How strange war is, you might meet someone and kill them on the battlefield but, if you had encountered them in peace, you might have bought him a drink or loaned him some money.treat = to buy something for someonehalf-a-crown = old British currency.
One eigth of a sovereign or £0.125
Thomas Hardy
Other author posts
Your Last Drive
Here by the moorway you returned, And saw the borough lights That lit your face — all To be in a week the face of the dead,
The Haunter
He does not think that I haunt here nightly: How shall I let him That whither his fancy sets him wandering I, too, alertly go —Hover and hover a few feet from him Just as I used to do, But cannot answer his words addressed me — Only...
Hap
If but some vengeful god would call to me From up the sky, and laugh: Thou suffering thing, Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy, That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die, Steeled by...
The Darkling Thrush
I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their househol...
