Smile, Smile, Smile

<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN> <h2> Smile, Smile, Smile </h2> <p>Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned<br/> Yesterday's Mail; the casualties (typed small)<br/> And (large) Vast Booty from our Latest Haul.<br/> Also, they read of Cheap Homes, not yet planned;<br/> For, said the paper, "When this war is done<br/> The men's first instinct will be making homes.<br/> Meanwhile their foremost need is aerodromes,<br/> It being certain war has just begun.<br/> Peace would do wrong to our undying dead,&mdash;<br/> The sons we offered might regret they died<br/> If we got nothing lasting in their stead.<br/> We must be solidly indemnified.<br/> Though all be worthy Victory which all bought,<br/> We rulers sitting in this ancient spot<br/> Would wrong our very selves if we forgot<br/> The greatest glory will be theirs who fought,<br/> Who kept this nation in integrity."<br/> Nation?&mdash;The half-limbed readers did not chafe<br/> But smiled at one another curiously<br/> Like secret men who know their secret safe.<br/> This is the thing they know and never speak,<br/> That England one by one had fled to France<br/> (Not many elsewhere now save under France).<br/> Pictures of these broad smiles appear each week,<br/> And people in whose voice real feeling rings<br/> Say: How they smile! They're happy now, poor things.<br/></p> <p>23rd September 1918.<br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />