A Cenotaph for A.E. Housman
Stick your hands in this rotting mud
Bone, and flesh have gone to God
I was Ragsdale
King of this battered place
Lord of roofless palace, and mucky throne.
I was a confused, a lonely lad.
Shropshire shopkeeper,
Versed in ladies’ dresses, and shoes
Called to rule by popular acclaim
Exiled to trench,
And washed by rain.
I have killed like Aztec priests,
And whimpered, with a child-like bleat.
When the guns seared heaven,
And the guns grew hot
Now, in this year, I have surrendered
To an empire of dust,
French, or German, Belgium, or English.
I am all, and one,
See me in the scalding winds,
The hazy morning,
Mixed with many,
And baked in the sun.
