Ice-cold from some O.P.,
And in the East is burning
Aurora's heraldry,

That spark she fails to waken
With which of yore I glowed,
Who, fain of eggs and bacon,
Tramp ravening down the road,

Aware, with self-despising,
Which interests me most--
The silvery mists a-rising
Or marmalade and toast.

Such are the War-bard's passions--
Rank seedlings of a time
That chokes with maths and rations
The bursting buds of rhyme.

[1]: Field Artillery Training

* * * * *

A ROMANCE OF RATIONS.

"Not like to like, but like in difference."
"_The Princess._"

I have always misjudged Victorine--I admit it now with shame. While other
girls have become engaged--and disengaged quite soon after--she has