HAPPY boy, happy boy, br David the immortal-willed, br Youth a thousand thousand times br Slain, but not once killed, br Swaggering again today br In the old contemptuous way; br br Leaning backward from your thigh br Up against the tinselled bar— br Dust and ashes! is it you? br Laughing, boasting, there you are! br First we hardly recognized you br In your modern avatar. br br Soldier, rifle, brown khaki— br Is your blood as happy so? br Where’s your sling or painted shield, br Helmet, pike or bow? br Well, you’re going to the wars— br That is all you need to know. br br Graybeards plotted. They were sad. br Death was in their wrinkled eyes. br At their tables—with their maps, br Plans and calculations—wise br They all seemed; for well they knew br How ungrudgingly Youth dies.