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Robert W Service - Victory Stuff
Work rating: Low

What d`ye think, lad; what d`ye think,
As the roaring crowds go by?
As the banners flare and the brasses blare
And the great guns rend the sky?
As the women laugh like they`d all gone mad,
And the champagne glasses clink:
Oh, you`re grippin` me hand so tightly, lad,
I`m a-wonderin`: what d`ye think?

D`ye think o` the boys we used to know,
And how they`d have topped the fun?
Tom and Charlie, and Jack and Joe —
Gone now, every one.
How they`d have cheered as the joy-bells chime,
And they grabbed each girl for a kiss!
And now — they`re rottin` in Flanders slime,
And they gave their lives — for this.

Or else d`ye think of the many a time
We wished we too was dead,
Up to our knees in the freezin` grime,
With the fires of hell overhead;
When the youth and the strength of us sapped away,
And we cursed in our rage and pain?
And yet — we haven`t a word to say. . . .
We`re glad. We`d do it again.

I`m scared that they pity us. Come, old boy,
Let`s leave them their flags and their fuss.
We`d surely be hatin` to spoil their joy
With the sight of such wrecks as us.
Let`s slip away quietly, you and me,
And we`ll talk of our chums out there:
You with your eyes that`ll never see,
Me that`s wheeled in a chair.
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