Cerberus stands and grins above me now,
Wearing three heads--lion, and lynx, and sow.
"Quick, a revolver! But my Webley's gone,
Stolen!... No bombs ... no knife....
The crowd swarms on,
Bellows, hurls stones.... Not even a honeyed sop ...
Nothing.... Good Cerberus!... Good dog!... but stop!
Stay!... A great luminous thought ... I do believe
There's still some morphia that I bought on leave."
Then swiftly Cerberus' wide mouths I cram
With army biscuit smeared with ration jam;

And sleep lurks in the luscious plum and apple.
He crunches, swallows, stiffens, seems to grapple
With the all-powerful poppy ... then a snore,
A crash; the beast blocks up the corridor
With monstrous hairy carcase, red and dun--
Too late! for I've sped through.
O Life! O Sun!




THE BOUGH OF NONSENSE

An Idyll

Back from the Somme two Fusiliers
Limped painfully home; the elder said,
_S_. "Robert, I've lived three thousand years