Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

The Man He Killed

“HAD he and I but met

By some old ancient inn,

We should have sat us down to wet

Right many a nipperkin!

“But ranged as infantry,

And staring face to face,

I shot at him as he at me,

And killed him in his place.

“I shot him dead because—

Because he was my foe,

Just so—my foe of course he was;

That’s clear enough; although

“He thought he’d ’list, perhaps,

Off-hand like—just as I—

Was out of work—had sold his traps—

No other reason why.

“Yes; quaint and curious war is!

You shoot a fellow down

You’d treat if met where any bar is,

Or help to half-a-crown.”