HAPPY boy, happy boy, <br />David the immortal-willed, <br />Youth a thousand thousand times <br />Slain, but not once killed, <br />Swaggering again today <br />In the old contemptuous way; <br /> <br />Leaning backward from your thigh <br />Up against the tinselled bar— <br />Dust and ashes! is it you? <br />Laughing, boasting, there you are! <br />First we hardly recognized you <br />In your modern avatar. <br /> <br />Soldier, rifle, brown khaki— <br />Is your blood as happy so? <br />Where’s your sling or painted shield, <br />Helmet, pike or bow? <br />Well, you’re going to the wars— <br />That is all you need to know. <br /> <br />Graybeards plotted. They were sad. <br />Death was in their wrinkled eyes. <br />At their tables—with their maps, <br />Plans and calculations—wise <br />They all seemed; for well they knew <br />How ungrudgingly Youth dies. <br /> <br />At their green official baize <br />They debated all the night <br />Plans for your adventurous days <br />Which you followed with delight, <br />Youth in all your wanderings, <br />David of a thousand slings<br /><br />Harold Monro<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/youth-in-arms/
