He had met hours of the clock he never guessed before- <br />Dumb, dragging, mirthless hours confused with dreams and fear, <br />Bone-chilling, hungry hours when the Gods sleep and snore, <br />Bequeathing earth and heaven to ghosts, and will not hear, <br />And will not hear man groan chained to the sodden ground, <br />Rotting alive; in feather beds they slumbered sound. <br /> <br />When noisome smells of day were sicklied by cold night, <br />When sentries froze and muttered; when beyond the wire <br />Blank shadows crawled and tumbled, shaking, tricking the sight, <br />When impotent hatred of Life stifled desire, <br />Then soared the sudden rocket, broke in blanching showers, <br />O lagging watch! O dawn! O hope-forsaken hours! <br /> <br />How often with numbed heart, stale lips, venting his rage <br />We swore he'd be a dolt, a traitor, a damned fool, <br />If, when the guns stopped, ever again from youth to age <br />He broke the early rising, early sleeping rule. <br />No, though more bestial enemies roused a fouler war <br />Never again would he hear this, no never more! <br /> <br />'Rise with the cheerful sun, go to bed with the same, <br />Work in your field or kailyard all the shining day, <br />But,' he said, 'never more in quest of wealth, honour, fame, <br />Search the small hours of night before the East goes grey. <br />A healthy mind, an honest heart, a wise man leaves <br />Those ugly impious times to ghosts, devils, soldiers, thieves.' <br /> <br />Poor fool, knowing too well deep in his heart <br />That he'll be ready again: if urgent orders come, <br />To quit his rye and cabbages, kiss his wife and part <br />At the first sullen rapping of the awakened drum, <br />Ready once more to sweat with fear and brace for the shock, <br />To greet beneath a falling flare the jests of the clock.<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/retrospect-the-jests-of-the-clock/
