Oh but: were Midas here and
all within his grasp to keep.

Or be it avarice and not at all
reality, but sleep.

Could such allure, or
penchant haste,

Impartiality confuse,
thus, tantalising taste.

            <>

Of course, as we all know,
Midas soon discovered, that
bread was more important
than gold. He starved to death.

If I were bold and young,
As a sailor's son,
For sure I'd sail away;
To the land where my fathers lived,
And I wouldn't give
A thought for me today.

For there in my quiet ville,
At the foot of a broad hill,
Reaching up so high;
I'd go tripping with my love,
Like the fond May dove,
Round the fog of the morning sky.

A fair-haired lass
My love would be,
Come from afar
To dance with me;
And like the dust,
We'd shelter in the caves;
And like the dust,
We'd blow away.

I love a pretty girl,
For her I pine, I long.
I see her smile of pearl,
Then dimly she is gone.
I watch her reappear,
As fair and pure as ever,
And Cupid tugs my ear,
And gently whispers "never".

I keep such music in my brain
No din this side of death can quell;
Glory exulting over pain,
And beauty, garlanded in hell.

My dreaming spirit will not heed
The roar of guns that would destroy
My life that on the gloom can read
Proud-surging melodies of joy.

To the world’s end I went, and found
Death in his carnival of glare;
But in my torment I was crowned,
And music dawned above despair.

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of ***,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.