A BALLADE OF DEDICATION TO MY FELLOW-GEFANGENER A. H. CHANDLER

Fast locked within the citadel, We’ve watched the hours of eight months fare Slowly towards the evening bell, And its cracked summons “clear the square.” We’ve watched the stately barges bear Seawards their teeming casks of wine, As we sat in the alcove there, Sipping the vintage of the Rhine. Ausgabe queues, we knew them well; Those thin lines straggling out like hair, Receding from an open cell, And finishing, the Lord knows where; And we have felt barbed wire tear Our breeches’ loose and draggled twine; But we’ve known hours less foul than fair, Sipping the vintage of the Rhine. We could forget the sauerkraut smell, Forget our weariness and share The phantasies that flocked pell mell About our unreal world; and there Across the thick, smoke-laden air Our loom of dreams was woven fine; We tracked illusion to its lair, Sipping the vintage of the Rhine. ENVOI Archie, we neither know nor care What waits for you, what fate is mine. This has been ours—to be friends there, Sipping the vintage of the Rhine. A. W. Boulogne, December 4th, 1918.