William Ernest Henley

In Hospital. 17. Interlude

O, the fun, the fun and frolic
   That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
   Scatters through a penny-whistle
   Tickled with artistic fingers!

Kate the scrubber (forty summers,
   Stout but sportive) treads a measure,
   Grinning, in herself a ballet,
   Fixed as fate upon her audience.

Stumps are shaking, crutch-supported;
   Splinted fingers tap the rhythm;
   And a head all helmed with plasters
   Wags a measured approbation.

Of their mattress-life oblivious,
   All the patients, brisk and cheerful,
   Are encouraging the dancer,
   And applauding the musician.

Dim the gas-lights in the output
   Of so many ardent smokers,
   Full of shadow lurch the corners,
   And the doctor peeps and passes.

There are, maybe, some suspicions
   Of an alcoholic presence . . .
   ‘Tak’ a sup of this, my wumman!’ . . .
   New Year comes but once a twelvemonth.