The Kaiser's "Place In The Sun"

    The Kaiser is seeking "a place in the Sun"
        But I fear he'll have to wait,
    Till another eclipse has dulled its face
        And the Allies have woven his fate:
    For the "spots" on the Sun are all occupied
        With a race descended from Mars;
    So there's no place in the heavens for schrecklich Wilhelm,
        Not even among the Stars.

    What boots it, Wilhelm, that your guns are big,
        And your Zeppelins soar by night,
    Since against you are leagued the earth and stars
        And you're sure to lose in the fight.
    You have drenched the world with heroic blood,
        And stained the record of Man,
    But you'll presently get your "place in the Sun,"
        Yes, the hottest since time began,

    For T. J. Murphy.

Thomas O'Hagan

Thomas O'Hagan was a Canadian poet and essayist born on March 6, 1855, in Toronto, Ontario. He was noted for his contributions to Canadian literature and his involvement in educational initiatives. His works often reflected themes of Irish heritage and identity. O'Hagan's dedication to literature and education earned him a distinguished place in Canada's cultural history. He passed away on March 1, 1939.

Thomas O'Hagan

In The Trenches

Thomas O'Hagan, Simple Poetry

The Christ-Child

Thomas O'Hagan, Simple Poetry

Gather The Harvest

Thomas O'Hagan, Simple Poetry

Langemarck

Thomas O'Hagan, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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From The Lord Of Potsdam

We, William, Kaiser, planted on Our throne
By heaven's grace, but chiefly by Our own,
Do deign to speak. Then let the earth be dumb,
And other nations cease their senseless hum!
    Seldom, if ever, does a chance arise
For Us to pose before Our people's eyes;
But this is one of them, this natal day
Whereon Our Ancient and Imperial sway,
Which to the battle's death-defying trump
Welded the States in one confounded lump,
(As many tasty meats are blent within
The German sausage's encircling skin)
By Our decree is twenty-five precisely,
And, under Us (and God) still doing nicely.
    Therefore ye Princelings, Plenipotentates,
And Representatives of various States,
A cool Imperial pint your Kaiser drains,
Both to Our 'more immediate' domains,
And to Our l...

Owen Seaman

The Kaiser's Bhoys

    O, the Kaiser's bhoys are marching, "nach Paris" they are going,
    But they've sthopped to rest a minit at the Marne and at the Meuse;
    And the Gordons and the Ministers are thryin' to entertain them,
    For they've every kind of "record" that the Teutons want to choose;
    They have battle cries that sounded for centuries in the Highlands,
    They have war cries fierce and stirring as the breath of Munster gales;
    They are shoutin' to the heavens, and they're shoutin' to the Kaiser,
    "Faugh-a-ballagh!" sons of Odin, or we'll tie you up like bales.

    O, the Kaiser's bhoys are dramin' of a naval base at Calais,
    But they wakin' ivery mornin' full of sorrow and of gloom;
    For the little Belgian sojers cut the dykes and flood their trenches,
    And...

Thomas O'Hagan

The Kaiser's Favorite Poems

    What are the Kaiser's favorite poems?
        Well, now, you tax me hard:
    I know the Kaiser's favorite drink
        But do not know his bard;
    I'm sure it is not Schiller
        Who reigns in German homes.
    Nor yet Olympian Goethe,
        Who writes the Kaiser's poems.

    Perhaps that Heinrich Heine
        Has touched the Kaiser's soul;
    Or Arndt with his trumpet call
        Like a new conscription roll;
    Or, Walther von der Vogelweide
        With his nest in mythic domes,
    Is the author and creator
        Of the Kaiser's favorite poems.

    If I saw the Kaiser's library
        I'd know well what he reads -
    The color of his fancy
        And the prompter of his deeds:
    I'd learn the depth a...

Thomas O'Hagan

The Song Of The Little Baltung. A.D. 395

A harper came over the Danube so wide,
    And he came into Alaric's hall,
And he sang the song of the little Baltung
    To him and his heroes all.

How the old old Balt and the young young Balt
    Rode out of Caucaland,
With the royal elephant's trunk on helm
    And the royal lance in hand.

Thuringer heroes, counts and knights,
    Pricked proud in their meinie;
For they were away to the great Kaiser,
    In Byzant beside the sea.

And when they came to the Danube so wide
    They shouted from off the shore,
'Come over, come over, ye Roman slaves,
    And ferry your masters o'er.'

And when they came to Adrian's burgh,
    With its towers so smooth and high,
'Come out, come out, ye Roman knaves,
    And see your lords ri...

Charles Kingsley

A Letter Home. (To Robert Graves)

I

Here I'm sitting in the gloom
Of my quiet attic room.
France goes rolling all around,
Fledged with forest May has crowned.
And I puff my pipe, calm-hearted,
Thinking how the fighting started,
Wondering when we'll ever end it,
Back to Hell with Kaiser send it,
Gag the noise, pack up and go,
Clockwork soldiers in a row.
I've got better things to do
Than to waste my time on you.

II

Robert, when I drowse to-night,
Skirting lawns of sleep to chase
Shifting dreams in mazy light,
Somewhere then I'll see your face
Turning back to bid me follow
Where I wag my arms and hollo,
Over hedges hasting after
Crooked smile and baffling laughter,
Running tireless, floating, leaping,
Down your web-hung woods and valleys,

Siegfried Sassoon

Blighters

The house is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin
And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks
Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din;
"We're sure the Kaiser loves the dear old Tanks!"

I'd like to see a Tank come down the stalls,
Lurching to rag-time tunes, or "Home, sweet Home," -
And there'd be no more jokes in Music-halls
To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume.

Siegfried Sassoon