Heather Stone

This is a WWI poem by Herbert Read (1893-1968) called "The Happy Warrior", which i have to learn for my English class off by heart. You are probably wondering why i have posted it on here, but it is so i can log onto a different computer, copy the text onto microsoft word, and then print it. Considering i cannot find my memorystick. :)




His wild heart beats with painful sobs,
His strin'd hands clench an ice-cold rifle,
His aching jaws grip a hot parch'd tongue,
His wide eyes search unconsciously.

He cannot shriek.

Bloody saliva
Dribbles down his shapeless jacket.

I saw him stab
And stab again
A well-killed Boche.

This is the happy warrior,
This is he...