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Owen Seaman (Оуэн Симен)

Thomas of the Light Heart

Facing the guns, he jokes as well
   As any Judge upon the Bench;
Between the crash of shell and shell
   His laughter rings along the trench;
He seems immensely tickled by a
Projectile which he calls a "Black Maria."

He whistles down the day-long road,
   And, when the chilly shadows fall
And heavier hangs the weary load,
   Is he down-hearted? Not at all.
'T is then he takes a light and airy
View of the tedious route to Tipperary.

His songs are not exactly hymns;
   He never learned them in the choir;
And yet they brace his dragging limbs
   Although they miss the sacred fire;
Although his choice and cherished gems
Do not include "The Watch upon the Thames."

He takes to fighting as a game;
   He does no talking, through his hat,
Of holy missions; all the same
   He has his faith—be sure of that;
He'll not disgrace his sporting breed,
Nor play what isn't cricket. There's his creed.

Owen Seaman's other poems:
  1. Yet
  2. To Belgium in Exile
  3. The Uses of Ocean
  4. To an Old Fogey
  5. To the Memory of Field-Marshall Earl Roberts

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