Shapes of Clay - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 213

AT THE "NATIONAL ENCAMPMENT."

You 're grayer than one would have thought you: The climate you have over there In the East has apparently brought you Disorders affecting the hair, Which—pardon me—seems a thought spare. You'll not take offence at my giving Expression to notions like these. You might have been stronger if living Out here in our sanative breeze. It's unhealthy here for disease. No, I'm not as plump as a pullet. But that's the old wound, you see. Remember my paunching a bullet?— And how that it didn't agree With—well, honest hardtack for me. Just pass me the wine—I've a helly And horrible kind of drouth! When a fellow has that in his belly Which didn't go in at his mouth He's hotter than all Down South! Great Scott! what a nasty day that was— When every galoot in our crack Division who didn't lie flat was Dissuaded from further attack By the bullet's felicitous whack. 'Twas there that our major slept under Some cannon of ours on the crest, Till they woke him by stilling their thunder, And he cursed them for breaking his rest, And died in the midst of his jest. That night—it was late in November— The dead seemed uncommonly chill To the touch; and one chap I remember Who took it exceedingly ill When I dragged myself over his bill. Well, comrades, I'm off now—good morning. Your talk is as pleasant as pie, But, pardon me, one word of warning: Speak little of self, say I. That's my way. God bless you. Good-bye.