A. P. Herbert Poems

My lad, I like America a lot,
And she can give us much we haven't got.
By all means speak like some Chicago tough
...

{To a Bishop)
I do not 'gloat'. But when I see
What they have done to all mankind,
...

The big ships are short—and the big ships are busy:
A continent is hungry and the high hopes fail.
But here's Mr. Waterman, here's the little Lizzie,
...

No bangs at night? No terrors in the air?
No neighbours dead—or buried—in the dawn?
...

It was my home, not ringed with roses blowing,
Nor set in meadows where cool waters croon;
Parched wastes were round it, and no shade was going,
Nor breath of violets nor song-birds' tune;
Only at times from the adjacent dwelling
Came down with Boreas the quaint, compelling
Scent of the Tenth Platoon.
...

Some call them 'bestial'; but that's unkind:
There is no animal with such a mind.
Some others say: 'They are my brothers still';
...

Come over, Sirs. 'London would like to know
Her Uncle Franklin and her Uncle Joe:
And it might move the Germans even more
...

The more we see of this gigantic job,
The more we know how much there was to do,
...

It is a wonder, this tough, tiny isle,
With such a load of metal and of men,
That she can sleep, that she can sleep and smile,
...

‘Frustration' is the favourite word —
The quaintest cry I ever heard:
For who can say he lives in vain
While Hitler and his hordes remain?
...