Above the broken walls the apple boughs, 181
Absolute knowledge I have none, 86
Across the sands by Mary’s well, 47
Against the shabby house I pass each day, 111
A little grimy-fingered girl, 43
Archduke Francis Ferdinand, Austrian heir-apparent, 137
A thousand whistles break the bonds of sleep, 198
Athwart that land of bloss’ming vine, 65
Black with the blackness of hell and despair, 196
Bosun’s whistle piping, “Starboard watch is on”;, 18
Boy in khaki, boy in blue, 82
By all the glories of the day, 13
By blazing homes, through forests torn, 70
Click, click! how the needles go, 128
Come! Says the drum, 67
Come shake hands, my little peach blossom, 76
Dear little flag in the window there, 154
Down in the street, with a lilting swing, 108
Down toward the deep-blue water, marching to throb of drum, 112
“Do your bit!” How cheap and trite, 152
’E’s a sportsman is our Padre, 36
Far and near, high and clear, 106
Flag of our Faith: lead on—, 40
Float thou majestically, proudly, triumphantly, 153
Franceline rose in the dawning gray, 139
God, the Master Pilot, 68
Gone is the spire that slept for centuries, 92
Hail and farewell, 126
Hail, banner of our holy faith, 45
Hear the guns, hear the guns!, 134
He profits most who serves us best!, 179
Here in the long white ward I stand, 14
Here’s to the Blue of the wind-swept North, 41
He was a French Boy Scout—a little lad, 83
He woke: the clank and racket of the train, 121
His regiment came home today, 192
Ho! Heimdal sounds the Gjallar-horn:, 21
I can count my francs an’ santeems, 186
I enlisted in the infantry last summer;, 141
If I should die, think only this of me:, 102
I have a conversation book; I brought it out from home, 19
I have a rendezvous with Death, 99
I hear the throbbing music down the lanes of Afric rain:, 42
I knit, I knit, I pray, I pray, 185
I never would ’ave done it if I’d known what it would be, 187
In Flanders’ fields the poppies blow, 101
In Flanders fields, where poppies blow, 195
In this last hour, before the bugles blare, 120
I saw the spires of Oxford, 114
I sit down to write a poem of our fighting men’s renown, 169
I stand on a peak at Verdun—a scarred, torn peak of hope and death, 167
It is long since knighthood was in flower, 85
It is portentous, and a thing of state, 144
I tried to be a doughboy, but they said my feet were flat, 143
It’s a high-falutin’ title they have handed us;, 44
It’s Spring at home; I know the signs—, 123
It was high midsummer and the sun was shining strong, 34
It was only a little river; almost a brook;, 159
It was thick with Prussian troopers, it was foul with German guns, 29
I’ve heard a half a dozen times, 113
I was an exile from my own country, 93
I wonder what the trees will say, 118
Just for a “scrap of paper,”, 24
Leave me alone here, proudly, with my dead, 132
Left! Left! Had a good girl when I Left! Left, 71
Let us praise God for the Dead: the Dead who died in our cause, 119
’Mid blinding rain this inky night, 74
Mike Dillon was a doughboy, 61
My heart is numb with sorrow;, 51
My house that I so soon shall own, 110
My name is Danny Bloomer and my age is eighty-three, 75
My son, at last the fateful day has come, 87
Never a Serbian flower shall bloom, 50
No beauty could escape his loving eyes, 14
No bugle is blown, no roll of drums, 86
No Man’s Land is an eerie sight, 16
Not with vain tears, when we’re beyond the sun, 102
Now, Mr. Wall of Wall St., he built himself a yacht, 89
O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear, 109
Oh, Carranza sent a cable-(on the kaiser’s birthday) gram, 176
Oh, Land of Ours, hear the song we make for you—, 161
Oh, the General with his epaulets, leadin’ a parade;, 37
Oh ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to War’s romance, 146
One star for all she had, 116
On law and love and mercy, 178
On the battlefields of Flanders men have blessed you in their pain, 69
Orchard land! Orchard land!, 189
Our little hour—how swift it flies—, 103
Out here the dogs of war run loose, 184
Out in that vague vast “somewhere” of The Line, 199
Out of the night it leaped the seas, 191
Outside the ancient city’s gate, 48
Over thousands of miles, 53
Pardon! he has no Engleesh, heem, 73
Past the marching men, where the great road runs, 162
Perched upon an office stool, neatly adding figures, 94
Poppies in the wheat fields on the pleasant hills of France, 25
Ribbons of white in the flag of our land, 105
Saint Genevieve, whose sleepless watch, 20
Say, pa! What is a service flag?, 158
She stands alone beside the gate, 157
She wasn’t much to brag about, she wasn’t much to see, 30
Some day the fields of Flanders shall bloom in peace again, 129
Somewhere is music from the linnets’ bills, 104
Song of the west wind whispering—listen, 163
Son o’ ol’ Miz McAuliffe, the widder o’ Box-Car Jack, 155
Standin’ up here on the fire-step, 80
Still breaks the Holy morn, to soothe the care, 117
Straight thinking, Straight talking, 57
Suddenly one day the last ill shall fall away, 151
Summer comes and summer goes, 72
Thank God, our liberating lance, 46
The band is on the quarter-deck, the starry flag unfurled;, 166
The Colonel has a job to do, 32
The dull gray paint of war, 183
The evening star a child espied, 81
The herdman wandering by the lonely rills, 27
The Kid has gone to the Colors, 23
The Kings are dying! In blood and flame, 145
The little home paper comes to me, 15
The magpies in Picardy, 130
The mist hangs low and quiet on a ragged line of hills, 182
The nightingales of Flanders, 50
The old flag is a-doin’ her very level best, 151
The Old Gang on the Corner! What an arrant tribe they were, 64
The outfield is a-creepin’ in to catch the kaiser’s pop, 177
The rivers of France are ten score and twain, 79
The sick man said: “I pray I shall not die, 133
The soldier boys are marching, are marching past my door;, 78
The star upon their service flag has changed to gleaming gold:, 17
The sunny streets of Oxford, 115
The war is over, over there, 197
The wind today is full of ghosts with ghostly bugles blowing, 200
There are some that go for love of a fight, 96
There is a hill in England, 60
There’s a military band that plays, on Sunday afternoons, 63
There’s a rumble an’ a jumble an’ a humpin’ an’ a thud, 26
There used to be a boy next door, 172
There will be dreams again! The grass will spread, 171
They dug no grave for our soldier lad, who fought and who died out there:, 136
They knew they were fighting our war. As the months grew to years, 52
They shall not pass, While Britain’s sons draw breath, 125
They shall return when the wars are over, 179
They’ve put us through our paces;, 69
This is the song of the Plane—, 190
Thou art no longer here, 90
Through the dark night and the fury of battle, 84
’Tis a green isle set in a silver water, 180
Trotting the roan horse, 170
Twenty years of the army, of drawing a sergeant’s pay, 38
Unfurl the flag of Freedom, 98
Up among the chimneys tall, 49
Was there ever a game we did not share, 91
We had forgotten You, or very nearly—, 55
We never were made to be seen on parade, 66
We often sit upon the porch on sultry August nights, 59
West to the hills, the long, long trail that strikes, 123
We whom the draft rejected, 160
What are we fighting for, men of my race, 165
When I return, let us be very still, 33
When the shells are bursting round, 174
Who was it, picked from civil life, 127
Why do we love our flag? Ask why flowers love the sunshine, 173
Within this nation-hallowed tomb, 202
Write us your verse, oh, soldier, tell us the grim, red tale, 193
Yes, back at home I used to drive a tram;, 97
You’re a funny fellow, poilu, in your dinky little cap, 95
You see that young kid lying there, 124
“You’ve heard a good deal of the telephone wires”, 57