“BLIGHTERS”

The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin

And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks

Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din;

“We're sure the Kaiser loves the dear old Tanks!”

I'd like to see a Tank come down the stalls,

Lurching to rag-time tunes, or “Home, sweet Home,” —

And there'd be no more jokes in Music-halls

To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume.