Scarce I believe the vision real,
That here for life and death they fight;
A "Theatre of War," I feel,
Has set its stage for my delight,
Who occupy, exempt from toll,
This auditorium, green and tufty,
Guest of the Management and sole
Object in mufti.

And now along the fretted ground
Where Canada's "BYNG Boys" stormed their way,
I go conducted on the round
That GEORGE OF WINDSOR did to-day;
Immune he trod that zone of lead,
And how should I, who just write verses,
Hope to attract to my poor head
Their "Perishing Percies"?

Bapaume had nearly been my tomb;
And greatly flattered I should be
If I could honestly assume
The beastly shell was meant for me;
But though my modesty would shun
To think this thought (or even say it),
I feel I owe the KAISER one
And hope to pay it.

O.S.

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