THE BILLET
A roof that hardly holds the rain;
Walls shaking to the hurricane;
Great doors upon their hinges creaking;
Great rats upon the rafters squeaking—
A midden in the courtyard reeking—
Yet oft I've sheltered, snug and warm,
Within that friendly old French farm!
Walls shaking to the hurricane;
Great doors upon their hinges creaking;
Great rats upon the rafters squeaking—
A midden in the courtyard reeking—
Yet oft I've sheltered, snug and warm,
Within that friendly old French farm!
To trudge in from the soaking trench—
The blasts that bite, the rains that drench—
To loosen off your ponderous pack,
To drop the harness from your back,
Deliberate pull each muddy boot
From each benumbed, frost-bitten foot;
To wrap your body in your blanket,
To mutter o'er a "Lord be thankit!"
Sink out of sight below the straw,
Then—Owre the hills and far awa'!
*****
Perchance to waken from your sleep,
And hear the big guns growling deep,
The blasts that bite, the rains that drench—
To loosen off your ponderous pack,
To drop the harness from your back,
Deliberate pull each muddy boot
From each benumbed, frost-bitten foot;
To wrap your body in your blanket,
To mutter o'er a "Lord be thankit!"
Sink out of sight below the straw,
Then—Owre the hills and far awa'!
*****
Perchance to waken from your sleep,
And hear the big guns growling deep,
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