THE HAWTHORN TREE

Not much to me is yonder lane
Where I go every day;
But when there's been a shower of rain
And hedge-birds whistle gay,
I know my lad that's out in France
With fearsome things to see
Would give his eyes for just one glance
At our white hawthorn tree.

* * * * *

Not much to me is yonder lane
Where _he_ so longs to tread;
But when there's been a shower of rain
I think I'll never weep again
Until I've heard he's dead.


CONCERT PARTY

(EGYPTIAN BASE CAMP)

They are gathering round ...
Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand,
Shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound,--
The jangle and throb of a piano ... tum-ti-tum ...