The Man He Killed

 

Poetry \ Eng 9

 

      Had he and I but met

      By some old ancient inn,

We should have sat us down to wet

      Right many a nipperkin!1

 

        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—2

      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.

 

 

Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)