POETRY.


THE MAN HE KILLED


Had he and I but met

By some old ancient inn,

We should have set us down to wet

Right many a nipperkin!


But ranged as infantry,

And staring face to face,

I shot at him as he at me,

And killed him in his place.


I shot him dead because--

Because he was my foe,

Just so: my foe of course he was;

That's clear enough; although


He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,

Off-hand like--just as I--

Was out of work--had sold his traps--

No other reason why.


Yes; quaint and curious war is!

You shoot a fellow down

You'd treat, if met where any bar is,

Or help to half a crown.



By Thomas Hardy



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POETRY.

POETRY.

POETRY.