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The old mandarin nods under his purple umbrella。 The rose in his
hand shoots its petals up in thin quills of crimson。 Then they collapse
and shrivel like red embers。 The fire sizzles。
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Men； Women and Ghosts
Tommy is galloping his cavalry； two by two； over the floor。 They
must pass the open terror of the door and gain the enemy encamped under
the wash…stand。 The mounted band is very grand； playing allegro and
leading the infantry on at the double quick。 The tassel of the hearth…rug
has flung down the bass…drum； and he and his dapple…grey horse lie
overtripped； slipped out of line； with the little lead drumsticks glistening to
the fire's shine。
The fire burns and crackles； and tickles the tripped bass…drum with its
sparkles。
The marching army hitches its little green platforms valiantly； and
steadily approaches the door。 The overturned bass…drummer； lying on the
hearth…rug； melting in the heat； softens and sheds tears。 The song jeers at
his impotence； and flaunts the glory of the martial and still upstanding；
vaunting the deeds it will do。 For are not Tommy's soldiers all bright and
new？
Tommy's leaden soldiers we； Glittering with efficiency。 Not
a button's out of place； Tons and tons of golden lace Wind
about our officers。 Every manly bosom stirs At the thought of
killing killing！ Tommy's dearest wish fulfilling。 We are
gaudy； savage； strong； And our loins so ripe we long First to
kill； then procreate； Doubling so the laws of Fate。 On their
women we have sworn To graft our sons。 And overborne
They'll rear us younger soldiers； so Shall our race endure and grow；
Waxing greater in the wombs Borrowed of them； while damp tombs
Rot their men。 O Glorious War！ Goad us with your points； Great
Star！
The china mandarin on the bookcase nods slowly； forward and back …
… forward and back and the red rose writhes and wriggles； thrusting its
flaming petals under and over one another like tortured snakes。
The fire strokes them with its dartles； and purrs at them； and the old
man nods。
Tommy does not hear the song。 He only sees the beautiful； new；
gaily…coloured lead soldiers。 They belong to him； and he is very proud
and happy。 He shouts his orders aloud； and gallops his cavalry past the
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Men； Women and Ghosts
door to the wash…stand。 He creeps over the floor on his hands and knees
to one battalion and another； but he sees only the bright colours of his
soldiers and the beautiful precision of their gestures。 He is a lucky boy to
have such fine lead soldiers to enjoy。
Tommy catches his toe in the leg of the wash…stand； and jars the
pitcher。 He snatches at it with his hands； but it is too late。 The pitcher
falls； and as it goes； he sees the white water flow over its lip。 It slips
between his fingers and crashes to the floor。 But it is not water which
oozes to the door。 The stain is glutinous and dark； a spark from the
firelight heads it to red。 In and out； between the fine； new soldiers；
licking over the carpet； squirms the stream of blood； lapping at the little
green platforms； and flapping itself against the painted uniforms。
The nodding mandarin moves his head slowly； forward and back。 The
rose is broken； and where it fell is black blood。 The old mandarin leers
under his purple umbrella； and nods forward and back； staring into the
air with blue…green eyes。 Every time his head comes forward a rosebud
pushes between his lips； rushes into full bloom； and drips to the ground
with a splashing sound。 The pool of black blood grows and grows； with
each dropped rose； and spreads out to join the stream from the wash…stand。
The beautiful army of lead soldiers steps boldly forward； but the little
green platforms are covered in the rising stream of blood。
The nursery fire burns brightly and flings fan…bursts of stars up the
chimney； as though a gala flamed a night of victorious wars。
The Painter on Silk
There was a man Who made his living By painting roses Upon silk。
He sat in an upper chamber And painted； And the noises of the street
Meant nothing to him。
When he heard bugles； and fifes； and drums； He thought of red； and
yellow； and white roses Bursting in the sunshine； And smiled as he
worked。
He thought only of roses； And silk。 When he could get no more silk He
stopped painting And only thought Of roses。
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Men； Women and Ghosts
The day the conquerors Entered the city； The old man Lay dying。 He
heard the bugles and drums； And wished he could paint the roses Bursting
into sound。
A Ballad of Footmen
Now what in the name of the sun and the stars Is the meaning of this
most unholy of wars？
Do men find life so full of humour and joy That for want of excitement
they smash up the toy？
Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon
killing； because their 〃of courses〃
Are not quite the same。 All these men by the ears； And nine nations
of women choking with tears。
It is folly to think that the will of a king Can force men to make ducks
and drakes of a thing
They value； and life is； at least one supposes； Of some little interest；
even if roses
Have not grown up between one foot and the other。 What a marvel
bureaucracy is； which can smother
Such quite elementary feelings； and tag A man with a number； and set
him to wag
His legs and his arms at the word of command Or the blow of a
whistle！ He's certainly damned；
Fit only for mince…meat； if a little gold lace And an upturned
moustache can set him to face
Bullets； and bayonets； and death； and diseases； Because some one he
c