Classic Poem

There's a tramp o' feet in the mornin,'
There's an oath from an N.C.O.,
As up the road to the trenches
The brown battalions go:
Guns and rifles and wagons,
Transports and horses and men,
Up with the flush of the dawnin',
And back with the night again.

Back again from the battle,
From the mates we've left behind,
And our officers are gloomy
And the N.C.O.'s are kind;
When a Jew's harp breaks the silence,
Purring an old refrain,
Singing the song of the soldier,
" Here we are again! "

Here we are!
Here we are!
Oh! here we are again!
Some have gone west,
Best of the best,
Lying out in the rain,
Stiff as stones in the open,
Out of the doings for good.
They'll never come back to advance or attack;
But, God! don't we wish that they could!