But take (as I observed) the fire beneath;

If ever foe should leap the shining margent

That laps our island like a liquid wreath

Then you would see us. Shimmering and argent,

"Out bay'nets!" we would snatch 'em from the sheath;

No 'shunning in that day, I think, O Sergeant.

Meanwhile we want a foretaste of the joy

That so much tedious tramping merely stifles:

We want to fall upon our—well, deploy,

And less of "Stand at ease" and fruitless trifles;

Der Tag will come (we whisper it with coy

Half-bated murmurings), when we have rifles

And uniforms. I want a uniform,

Even if not of khaki's steadfast fibre,

To make the bright-eyed maidens' hearts more warm

And still the mockings of the street-boy giber;

Meanwhile, I say, why not deploy and storm

The sacred trenches of the Zoo-subscriber?

The hour, the place invite. While here we stake

Our country's weal on nugatory follies,

What are these screams of insolence that wake

The bosky silence with perpetual volleys?

Give us the word to charge and let us take

Yon outpost of the Eagles with our brollies.