| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Old Timers | | By Carl Sandburg |
| | | I AM an ancient reluctant conscript. | |
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| On the soup wagons of Xerxes I was a cleaner of pans. | |
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| On the march of Miltiades’ phalanx I had a haft and head; | |
| I had a bristling gleaming spear-handle. | |
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| Red-headed Caesar picked me for a teamster. | 5 |
| He said, “Go to work, you Tuscan bastard! | |
| Rome calls for a man who can drive horses.” | |
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| The units of conquest led by Charles the Twelfth, | |
| The whirling whimsical Napoleonic columns: | |
| They saw me one of the horseshoers. | 10 |
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| I trimmed the feet of a white horse Bonaparte swept the night stars with. | |
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| Lincoln said, “Get into the game; your nation takes you.” | |
| And I drove a wagon and team and I had my arm shot off | |
| At Spottsylvania Court House. | |
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| I am an ancient reluctant conscript. | 15 | | | |
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