| George Herbert Clarke, ed. (1873–1953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917. |
| |
| 76. A Letter from the Front |
| | | By Henry Newbolt |
| |
| |
| I WAS out early to-day, spying about | |
| From the top of a haystack—such a lovely morning— | |
| And when I mounted again to canter back | |
| I saw across a field in the broad sunlight | |
| A young Gunner Subaltern, stalking along | 5 |
| With a rook-rifle held at the ready, and—would you believe it?— | |
| A domestic cat, soberly marching beside him. | |
| |
| So I laughed, and felt quite well disposed to the youngster, | |
| And shouted out “the top of the morning” to him, | |
| And wished him “Good sport!”—and then I remembered | 10 |
| My rank, and his, and what I ought to be doing: | |
| And I rode nearer, and added, “I can only suppose | |
| You have not seen the Commander-in-Chief’s order | |
| Forbidding English officers to annoy their Allies | |
| By hunting and shooting.” | 15 |
| But he stood and saluted | |
| And said earnestly, “I beg your pardon, Sir, | |
| I was only going out to shoot a sparrow | |
| To feed my cat with.” | |
| So there was the whole picture, | 20 |
| The lovely early morning, the occasional shell | |
| Screeching and scattering past us, the empty landscape,— | |
| Empty, except for the young Gunner saluting, | |
| And the cat, anxiously watching his every movement. | |
| |
| I may be wrong, and I may have told it badly, | 25 |
| But it struck me as being extremely ludicrous. | |
| |
|
|
|
