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Katharine Tynan - The Golden Boy
Work rating: Low

IN times of peace, so clean and bright,
 And with a new-washed morning face,
He walked Pall Mall, a goodly sight,
 The finished flower of all the race.

Or through Bond Street and Piccadilly,
 Went spick-and-span, without a soil,
As careless as the July lily
 That spins not, neither does she toil.

He took his soldiering as sport,
 And beauteous in his mufti stirred
Romance i` the simple female sort
 That loves a guardsman or a lord.

And now, knee-deep in muddy water,
 Unwashed, unshaven, see him go!
His garments stained with mud and slaughter
 Would break the heart of Savile Row.

The danger`s in his blood like wine,
 The old heroic passion leaps;
The son of the mighty fighting line
 Goes glad whatever woman weeps.

He plays the game, winning or losing,
 As in the playing-fields at home;
This picnic`s nothing of his choosing,
 But since it`s started, let it come!

He lives his hour with keenest zest,
 And midst the flying death he spares
A laugh to the light-heart schoolboy jest,
 Mingled with curses and with prayers.

Gay as at Eton or at Harrow,
 Counts battles as by goals and runs
God keep him from Death`s flying arrow
 To give his England fighting sons.
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