In The Years 1910 And

I Am Not Protesting Against The Conduct Of The War, But Against The Political Errors And Insincerities For Which The Fighting Men Are Being Sacrificed.

O German Mother Dreaming By The Fire, While You Are Knitting Socks To Send Your Son His Face Is Trodden Deeper In The Mud.

And There'd Be No More Jokes In Music-halls To Mock The Riddled Corpses Round Bapaume.

And It's Been Proved That Soldiers Don't Go Mad Unless They Lose Control Of Ugly Thoughts That Drive Them Out To Jabber Among The Trees.

In Me The Tiger Sniffs The Rose.