In bowler hats, top coats,
With woollen mufflers round their throats,
They played at war,
These men I watched to-day.
Weary with office work, pinched-faced, depressed,
About the field they marched and counter-marched,
Halting and marking time and all the rest —
Meanwhile the world went on its way
To see the football heroes play.

No music, no applause,
No splendour for them but a Cause
Hid deep at heart.
They drilled there soberly,
Their one half-holiday — the various show
Of theatres all resisted, home renounced;
The Picture Palace with its kindly glow
Forgotten now, that they may be
Worthy of England's chivalry.