Classic Poem

He was only an ornamental chorus-man,
Who had no ambition to play “Hamlet.”
But when the bugles of the Great War blew,
He sailed away for France,
With the wonted gayety of an actor
Who climbs aboard the gang-plank
Of a papier-maché ship
In a musical comedy.
The leaves on the tombs of Booth and Irving
Are sere tonight,
But the poppies that toss
Over the grave of a valorous youth
Who went forth singing into battle,
Shall blossom in our hearts
With Shakespeare's dreams.